Still Surprised
by Max Alleyne
Summary: “Yes, I believe I’ll stay awhile longer,” he said calmly. “It seems this world still holds something for me.” Godric/OC
1. Encounters

**Author's Note: **This has been in brain for just a bit, so I thought I'd get it out. Hopefully, you'll enjoy it, because that would make me smile. Anyway, whatever your thoughts, just let me know.  


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Godric could feel the sun coming as he stood on the roof of the hotel, watching the people pass below. He remembered a time when—in his youth—all humans had looked the same to him. They walked the same, sounded the same, smelled disgusting. But those years were gone. Now he realized that they were all so very different. Some of them were leaders, others were followers, but each human being was unique.

Even from this height, when people all looked like ants to him, he could see the distinctions. There was a man who didn't walk, he swaggered. There was a woman seemed incapable of strolling. Instead, she walked with her head up, her stride purposeful, as though she had no fear. It seemed a shame to leave the world, but he was so tired...

But when he looked at those ants, those little people below him, he had hope. He felt a little less tired, a little more optimistic. Those people weren't afraid of the dark. They may have been afraid of the things that went bump in the night, but it didn't stop them going out. That showed courage, and that courage made him smile.

His smile fled, however, when he watched the swaggering man push the woman to the ground, as he reached inside his jacket and produced a gun. Thinking that perhaps he had one last act of goodness to do before he left the world, he leapt from the roof onto a lower building, and the onto the street. However, by the time he got there, the young woman was standing over the man, his gun in her hand.

"I should shoot you. I could get away with it. After all, it is self-defense. But I won't…Just be careful. The next girl might not be so nice. And the police are less likely to give community service to a second time offender," she said to him, though her voice was anything but nice. She turned to walk away, leaving him lying on the pavement, wide-eyed and afraid, but stopped and turned back to face him. Calmly, as if she did it every day, she kicked him in the side of the head and he promptly lost consciousness. She fished her cell phone from her pocket and dialed the police.

Godric stood in the shadow of the building, safe from the sun's fiery rays, watching her. She was tiny—shorter than he was—and slender. Her hair appeared the color of flames with the sun shining on it, and it almost seemed a shame that it was pulled up. He could see a tattoo Celtic knot tattooed on the back of her neck, the lines delicate and flowing. He wouldn't have associated the word delicate with this human, despite her tiny stature and the fact that he knew how fragile humans really were. There was a strength about her that was written in the determined set of her jaw, and the bold way she stared out at the world.

He couldn't help but smile, finding the woman's treatment of the man humorous. But there was something else there. She wasn't lying when she said she could kill him. He had been around for well over three millennia, and he knew the look. The look of someone who was prepared to kill, and she had it. But she checked herself, instead opting for mercy—albeit a very painful mercy. That gave him hope. "Yes, I believe I'll stay awhile longer," he said calmly. "It seems this world still holds something for me."

She hung up the phone and turned towards where he was standing. She was startled as she noticed him, and he saw the flash of recognition in her eyes. "You…where did you come from?" she asked, more curious than anything else. She was standing in the very edge of the shadow that the building cast, and didn't take a step towards the sunlight.

He saw no point in lying; she already knew what he was. "The roof."

She nodded, her face blank. "Right. The roof. I'm assuming you didn't take the stairs from the roof."

"No. I jumped."

She nodded again, unsure just what exactly he was doing there, and how exactly she was supposed to act. "I guess being a vampire, you can do things like that. Who needs bungee cords when you can just heal right up?"

"I saw that he was attacking you. I meant to help, but you had things well in hand by the time I arrived," he explained.

"That's probably a good thing. Otherwise, you'd be fried crispy. Speaking of which…don't you need to be inside?"

"I'm safe in the shadow for now. I thought I would stay until the police arrived."

"That won't be necessary," she said quickly. "They'll need a statement from you, and that means going to the station, which could be pretty problematic given the whole daylight thing. Plus…the cops around here aren't always the friendliest when it comes to vampires. Fellowship of the Sun influence, and all that."

His smile widened. "Are you concerned for my safety?"

"I'm sure you can handle yourself, but dealing with cops can be a pain in the as—it can be inconvenient. Besides, sun won't stay behind that building forever."

"I'll have plenty of time to move," he replied, taking several steps forward. Her eyes widened as she took note of the tattoos across his arms and chest. "I'm Godric."

She closed the distance between then and offered him her hand. "Moira Ahern." Her handshake was strong and firm, and she looked him in the eye, completely unafraid of him. When he was younger, that was part of what made him so dangerous. But then, she realized that. She knew he was dangerous, and was taking the risk anyway. "Nice to meet you."

"It's a shame the circumstances aren't more pleasant."

"Yeah…it is. You should go. You don't need to be involved in this unpleasantness," she said, though not without a hint of regret.

"Perhaps we shall meet again?" he said. She smiled at him and nodded.

"Yeah, maybe."

He pushed open the door and headed for Eric's room, contemplating along the way. He had seen so many contradictions in this world, and in the most interesting places. In young women who had no fear and an open mind. How was it that someone so young could be prepared to kill, but still have no fear? In all his years of living, he had never known a human that knew what he was and did not fear him. She was the first. Even now, it seems, he could still be surprised.

He raised his hand to knock on Eric's door, but hadn't touched it before it was wide open. Eric stood in the doorway, though he didn't own the space as he usually would. Instead, he was slouched, his shoulders sagging. There were red blood stains trailing down his cheeks, signs of his grief blatantly obvious. Upon seeing Godric, he froze.

"We have some things to discuss," Godric said calmly. Eric nodded and closed the door behind them. "I'm tired of politics, Eric. It's too cynical for my taste."

"Come back with me. To Shreveport." Eric's response was almost immediate. "I'm sheriff of my Area, but—"

"I can be there without being involved. It won't be a problem."

"My business won't be to your liking—"

"You're making a living doing what you want to do. I'm not judging you," Godric answered, studying his son. The sense of peace he felt at the idea of release from this life still hadn't faded, and he had every intention of carrying that peace over into the rest of his life, however long that may be.

"You'll stay?"

"I don't know how long I'll stay. There are still places in this world that I want to see. People to meet—"

"You'll meet plenty of them at the bar," Eric answered, not sounding entirely enthused. Thoughts of humans wanting to touch him and snap pictures of him were running through his mind, annoying him. Godric—being infinitely more patient—probably wouldn't mind.

"You say that as if it were a bad thing. Humans still have very much to offer this world."

"They invented True Blood, let vampires reveal their existence to the world. I'm still not entirely sure why that's considered a good thing. Life before then wasn't bad. I quite enjoyed it."

"You're too jaded to be so young. Of course, young is relative. When you're my age, everyone seems young," Godric said, laughing at himself and at his offspring, though it was not cruel laughter.

Eric was silent for a long time before he spoke. "Why did you decide to stay?"

"As I said, there is hope for the world. It seems that humans still have the ability to surprise me, even after all these years." Eric, the king of deadpan, widened his eyes in surprise. He had stopped being surprised by humanity a long time ago, and he was less than half his maker's age. But then, Godric had always possessed something that he hadn't. Godric had always maintained something of that belief in innocence, despite the atrocities that he had seen and committed. He somehow found it in himself to believe in forgiveness and second chances—something Eric had given up centuries ago.

"In the span of a minute, humanity surprised you?"

Fondness spread across Godric's face as he recalled Moira Ahern, with her fearlessness and tentative smile. "A young woman, Moira Ahern. She showed mercy to a man that would have attacked her. She checked her impulse to take his life, though I daresay he will be feeling the aftereffects come later today." Eric didn't say anything—just arched an eyebrow—obviously unimpressed.

"As soon as she saw me, she knew what I was, and was completely unafraid. She stayed in the shadows to speak with me. She shook my hand and met my gaze without a trace of fear. How is that? In all the years I've been alive, Eric, that has never happened to me. How is it that a woman of her age can have that kind of mental fortitude, and still possess wisdom and mercy?"

"I can't answer that," Eric said plainly, though he could think of someone that made him ask the exact same questions.

"Neither can I. Like I said, there are still some questions we do not know the answers to."

"No, though I would love to know."

"Perhaps it is best to accept that there are some things that even we cannot explain," Godric answered wisely.

_No, _Eric thought, _but we can still try…

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_**Author's Note: **So, there's chapter one, and I hope you liked it. Please review. =)


	2. Square One

Eric Northman hadn't been jealous in years. Not in the way that he was now. Yes, he envied Bill Compton, but Sookie would be convenient more than anything—sex would be secondary. But this human—this Moira Ahern—had managed something that he hadn't. In just a few minutes, with a few simple actions, she had managed what no amount of pleading on his part would do. She had saved Godric's life.

From a business standpoint, Godric made a nice addition to Fangtasia, and he seemed to be content. He managed to make good conversation with those who sat alone at the bar. He turned away desperate, pleading fangbangers with grace—which was no small feat. He had patience with the human bar staff—even Ginger, who was painfully inept. His very presence seemed to remind the other vampires of the lines that were not to be crossed, which kept police raids to a minimum.

But something was missing.

He seemed content, but to say that he was happy—truly happy—would be incorrect. There had always been something calming about Godric, which is what had made him so dangerous. He pulled you in because you didn't think that there could possibly be anything deadly about him, and then he struck. Even when he had turned Eric, when he called himself Death, there had been something calm and soothing about his presence. But soothing and happy were two different things.

"Why do you bother?" he asked Godric one night, a week and a half since their return from Dallas. "You could be king of any state you wanted, and instead, you sit in my bar and keep peace with the patrons."

Godric smiled slightly. "I'm waiting to be surprised."

"Well, a bar is a terrible place for surprises. They all come in looking for the same thing," Eric said, his voice bored.

"They just want to feel something. The tourists want to be proud that they've stared death in the eye and survived it. Your...fangbangers—" He cringed at the term. "—want to feel needed, like they're part of something bigger than themselves. They live with the idea that we need them. And us…well, most of the vampires are just like me. They're looking to be surprised."

"Or looking for an easy meal."

Godric laughed at his son's cynicism. It was easy for a vampire to be cynical. After seeing so much human history, and watching their capacity to destroy themselves, it didn't surprise him that vampires were jaded. But in the course of that history, there were moments of hope. In times of crisis and despair, people bonded together and found away to pull themselves through it. If not for that, Godric probably would have given up this life a long time ago. But life—and death, apparently—were full of surprises.

"Are you happy here, Godric?" Eric asked. It seemed a simple enough question. Was he happy here? Eric's company was nice, and Pam—one of Eric's offspring—was highly amusing. There was never a dull moment, especially given the recent maenad ordeal in Renard Parish. But there was something missing, and try as he might, he couldn't hide that from Eric.

"Yes. I am," he answered.

"Then why don't you ever seem as satisfied like you did that morning in Dallas?"

"Humans like Moira are very few. Humans have given themselves so much to fear from their own kind, that they extend that fear to things they can't understand. Because the known frightens them, the unknown frightens them even more. But this one…I'm sure she was probably afraid—I could smell the adrenaline in her blood—but she wasn't afraid of me. And she didn't expect anything from me. I was what I was, and that was enough."

"And if you'd been human?"

"I wouldn't have been there at all, then, would I?"

He was avoiding answering the question, which told Eric that he was done with the discussion. They were a strange-looking pair. Godric, clad in white, was sipping a True Blood and looking too young to even be allowed in the bar. Eric was clad from head to toe in black, and looking every inch the vampire. Despite the fact that they looked completely opposite in almost every way (pale skin excepted), there was a bond between them that was almost palpable.

"G'night Eric, Godric. I'm goin' home," Ginger said cheerfully, waving at them from the door. Godric smiled and nodded in acknowledgment. Eric rolled his eyes.

"I think I'm going for a walk." Godric stood and walked from the club, leaving Eric behind, staring after him. He knew the sun would rise shortly—two hours or so. Plenty of time for a walk. In years past, he wouldn't been walking—he would have been hunting. But he made himself comfortable on the steps of a church and watched. There were couples strolling hand-in-hand, or sitting on benches. People were out, trying to get their morning run in before the heat of the day. Others, like him, were just sitting and watching.

He could feel the dawn coming, and it was too tempting to continue sitting on the steps. He would be able to feel the sun on his face, as if God were smiling on him. But he couldn't do that. He had promised Eric that he would stay for a while longer, and he deserved a chance to say good-bye…when the time came. Later, though. Much later.

The city was coming alive as he walked back to the bar. School buses were starting to run, and he caught some of the children staring out the windows at him. Children were surprisingly perceptive when it came to those sorts of things, he had noticed over the years. Still, one of them smiled at him, and waved. He smiled back.

By the time he go back, the bar was dead. Everyone was gone, except Pam, who had made herself very comfortable in a booth with one of her humans. Normally he would find Eric in the office, but he was gone. Curious, he looked at Pam.

"Where's Eric?" he asked. She looked up from her human just long enough to answer.

"He had some business to take care of. He should be back tomorrow."

"Where'd he go?"

"Dallas."

Moira looked down at the boxes that were laid out in front of her, and the trash bags that needed to be hauled out to the curb to be picked up. She hated moving. It was ridiculous that she should move all her stuff into the big city, just to have to turn around and move it back out when her internship was over. She knew that in the process she was going to lose something, just like she had when she moved in. Hopefully this time it wouldn't be anything important.

She was also wondering why in the world she had brought so much stuff with her. Oh, right. She had expected to actually enjoy her stay in Dallas, but she just hadn't. She tried, but her internship was smothering. You would think that an internship with one of the biggest local news stations in the Dallas area would be a great opportunity—and it was—but there were too many rules. You can say this, you can't say that. The first day there, they had handed her a list of terms that she could and could not use. Her favorite was "undead American." Some groups didn't like the term "vampire" because it had too much negative history associated with it, hence "undead American." Maybe reporting wasn't going to be her cup of tea, after all.

"Shame…four years of college…all wasted. Maybe opinion writing would be better," she said aloud to no one in particular. There wasn't anyone there to help her move, which made the entire process even more depressing than it already was. When her family had helped her move in, it had been exciting, like she was opening a new door. Now she was beginning to think that it was all crap. She hadn't opened a new door, or turned a new page, or whatever the expression was. Or if there had been open doors, they were all closed now. She just couldn't bring herself to do something that she hated so much.

She was going through her dinner silver, trying to decide how best to pack it. In her great lack of gracefulness, she had dropped the box that the set came in, and now had to come up with some other way. Forks and spoons and knives and cake servers were all over her table, piled into one big unorganized mess. It was stupid that she brought it, but she had hoped that if things went well, she might be doing some entertaining. Given that things hadn't gone well, however, she didn't use it once.

Moira rose and went to get another box out of her bedroom. When she got finished in the kitchen, this room would be next, and the last. That was always the hardest part, just because everything was so personal. She looked around at her books, her photos, the Irish marble carving on her bedside table…all of it had to be packed away. It was the final nail in the coffin. It made the realization all the more concrete: this had been a waste of time. She was back at square one.

There was a knock on the door. Without thinking, she called, "It's open. Come on in."

She heard the door open slowly, and she rose to greet the movers. She had been expecting them to look slightly different. Instead of being shorter and stockier, he was tall and well-muscled. Instead of a mover's uniform, he was wearing a black tank top and jeans.

He also happened to be a vampire. Definitely a vampire. His skin was pale and flawless. His movements—what she had seen so far, anyway—were graceful and catlike. But above all, she noticed that he definitely wasn't breathing.

"Moira Ahern?" he asked.

"That's me. Can I help you?" she answered, carrying the box back into the kitchen. She started carefully wrapping her utensils in cloth before placing them in the box.

Eric could almost understand why Godric had been fascinated. She knew exactly what he was, and wasn't afraid. Being feared was no longer something that appealed to Godric, and Moira wasn't afraid at all. It could have been stupidity, or it could have been something else; he wasn't sure yet. He did know that if he was going to have to deal with her on a daily basis, he was going to find out.

"My name is Eric Northman. A few weeks ago, you met a vampire—"

"Godric, yes," she finished for him, still packing. "He seemed like a nice guy. Shame we didn't get to talk longer, but it was daylight."

"And you were speaking to the police."

"Yeah. There was that, too. After the Fellowship of the Sun fiasco, everyone has been on edge about vampire-related crime."

"You made quite the impression," Eric said tersely. Moira smiled fondly as the memories of their exchange slipped across her mind.

"He did, too."

"Good." With that, Eric moved at lightning speed and grabbed her, one hand over her mouth, the other holding her tight against him. She panicked, and tried to use the self-defense moves that she had learned. Of course, hitting him in the stomach between the ribs did no good when he didn't need to breathe. With all the force she was able to muster, she struck him in the face. There was a sickening crack, and from the pain blossoming in her hand, she realized that it wasn't his face. She continued to squirm and kick and tried to scream, but it all did no good. He wasn't letting go.

Desperate, she grabbed the nearest object at hand—a silver cake server—off the table, and jabbed it into Eric's side. His flesh sizzled as the silver burnt him, and the server sliced cleanly through his flesh. He dropped her to the floor and she tried to run, but before she got far, he was blocking her exit, pulling the cake server out his side. Smoke was rising off his body where he was touching the silver, but the wound closed almost instantly. She grabbed another weapon, a fork this time.

But Eric was done playing games with her. Losing his patience, he hit her across the face, sending her into oblivion.

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**Author's Note: **A huge, huge thank you to everyone who reviewed and favorited and alerted. Your feedback means a lot to me. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and please review! =)


	3. Waking up in Shreveport

When Moira woke, she knew two things: she was alive, and she was in the dark. She knew that she was a live, because if she were dead, she wouldn't be in this much pain. Her jaw ached—she was sure it was bruised and swollen—and her hand was alternating between a dull ache and a sharp, stabbing pain when she tried to bend her fingers. Not to mention, she liked to think that if she died what waited for her was not a tiny, cramped black space.

Trying to figure out where she was and what was going on, she reached out her hand—the one that didn't hurt—and felt into the darkness. She stopped when she touched a hard, smooth wall. She ran her hand along the surface until she couldn't anymore. A box, she realized. She was inside a tiny, dark box. It was getting harder to catch her breath, and she wondered how long she had been inside it. Air…she needed air.

"What is this?" Moira recognized the voice immediately. Godric. The first vampire she had ever met. The first time that she heard his voice, he had been calm but interested. Now, it was different. The only word that came to mind was "furious."

"You weren't happy—"

The other voice was easily recognizable, as well. Eric Northman. He had taken her from her apartment—seemingly without remorse. He had been cold, businesslike when questioning her during their first meeting, but now he, too, sounded different. There was almost an edge of…unhappiness in his voice. It sounded strange on him, but perhaps some of that had to do with the circumstances of their first meeting.

"That does not give you license to take her from her life. She has a right to live her life as she chooses, and you cannot interfere with that."

"You were thinking about meeting the sun again. I can't…I won't let you do that."

There was a long silence before Godric spoke again. "I told you I would stay a while. Do you doubt me?" His voice was softer now, with an edge of sadness to it.

"No."

Despite the fact that she couldn't see what was going on, Moira felt a bit like she was intruding on intimate moment. Like this exchange was something that she had no business hearing. But, all good things must come to an end, and she the longer she stayed in this box, the harder it was getting to breathe. To draw attention to herself, she banged on the top of the box.

"Um…I hate to intrude, but can you please let me out of here?"

Before the question was completely out of her mouth, the box opened and she saw the concerned, beautiful face of Godric staring down at her. The fresh air was cool on her face, but the perfection of his features took her breath away so that she couldn't enjoy it. He offered her a hand, which she took, and he helped her to sit up. When she smelled the odor of burning flesh, she immediately pulled her hand from his.

"I'm sorry. I forgot," she whispered. On the third finger of her left hand was a silver claddagh ring. The two hands representing friendship, held the heart that represented love, which wore the crown for loyalty. The crown faced towards her body.

"It's no trouble," he answered, his hand already healed. "Your other hand…if I may?" He gestured to her broken, swollen hand. Her fingers were too swollen to remove the other ring she wore—also silver—from her middle finger. She nodded her consent, and he took her tiny hand in his slightly larger one.

His touch was light and feather soft. He could have destroyed her, torn her apart with those hands, but instead, he took special care not to. Her ring was burning him, but he ignored it. Instead, he studied her hand, poking and prodding as gently as he could, to determine whether or not there was anything that they could do about it. The whole time, she sat there, completely still, completely trusting him not to hurt her. Even when he was done, he continued to hold her hand, almost as if he were unaware of the burns on his palms.

"Your hand is broken," he said quietly.

"Yours is burning," she answered, just as softly.

"It doesn't hurt." He was a damn good liar, but she'd put her hand on a hot stove too many times to believe him.

"Yes, it does." She gently pulled her hand out of his grasp, though not without some reluctance. She could see her feelings echoed in his expression, and she smiled at him.

"I'm sorry for the disruption in your life. Eric was afraid—"

"I heard. I…understand."

"You couldn't possibly," Eric cut in from where he sat, off to the side. She could see the remnants of the bloody tears on his cheeks. Yes, there was a level of intimacy between them that she would never understand, and that words would never be able to describe. She felt…torn, to say the least.

"If you'd like, I can arrange for you to be on a plane home tomorrow," Godric said, giving Eric an admonishing look.

"That won't be necessary. This, actually, is home. I was only in Dallas for an internship, but that's over so…" She trailed off and shrugged, unsure of how to finish the sentence, or exactly how she should be behaving.

"Your hand…Eric do you know any healers?"

"I can have Dr. Ludwig here in fifteen minutes," he answered tersely. "But she's only going to pop the bones back in place and give her blood." From his tone, it was obvious that he wasn't talking about human blood. "We could save the fee and do it on our own."

Godric looked to Moira, again, asking her permission. She could see that he was fully prepared to open a vein and give her his blood, but she couldn't let him do that. She wasn't ready for something like that. She had heard about the consequences of vampire blood, everything from addiction to bonding with the vampire. Either way, those weren't possibilities she was ready to explore just yet.

"It's alright. Just give me a few strong shots of whiskey to get me through the night, and I'll go to the orthopedist in the morning. It isn't a big deal."

"Whiskey?" Eric asked, unable to keep the snide laughter out of his voice.

"With a name like Moira Ahern, would you really expect anything else? I'm guessing this place doesn't have Guinness," she shot back with a grin.

It should have been easy to hate Eric Northman. He had attacked her and taken her from her apartment. He had carted her across state lines in a box—correction, make that a coffin, clearly marked "Anubis Air"—all as a gift for Godric. But she could understand his reasons. The bond between the two of them was so strong, and so obvious that a blind man could have seen it. Eric had mentioned Godric trying to meet the sun…he was afraid of losing someone he loved. She understood, and with that understanding came compassion.

"No, but whiskey is in great supply."

"Good. Now, if you could just give me a hand out of this _coffin, _I'd greatly appreciate it." Again, before the words were out of her mouth, Godric had her hands in his, and was helping her from the box and onto a sofa. "Really, a _coffin_?" she said in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere. She was also trying to take her mind of the fact that Godric's eyes seemed unable to stray for the large bruise on her cheek.

"It was the fastest and easiest way to get you here. People would have questioned me putting an unconscious woman in a car. They don't question vampires," he told her, putting special emphasis on that last part. She just smiled at him. He stood and stalked out of what must have been the office, leaving her alone with Godric.

"I'm sorry for what Eric has done—"

"Don't apologize for him. You didn't make him kidnap me."

"No, but he did it for me." He reached out and lightly ran his fingers over her bruised face. Even that light touch made her cringe. "He may have broken your cheekbone as well as your hand."

She grinned lopsidedly at him. "I wouldn't really say that he broke my hand. It's more that I broke it on his hard head. He really lost patience when I stabbed him with a cake server…I guess I can see why, though. I mean, it probably wasn't a very comfortable experience for him."

Godric stared at her in amazement. She was making jokes. In this situation, most humans would be trying to run away or begging for mercy, or maybe begging him to bite them. But she sat up and faced the problem with a cool head and a sense of humor. He couldn't stop a smile from spreading across his face as he looked at her.

"He hit you?" he asked, cupping her cheek. His cool touch was a comfort to her battered face, and the warmth from her body was a comfort to him. He hadn't felt warmth such as this in quite some time.

"Yeah…after the cake server part."

"I wish you would let me give you my blood. It pains me to see bruises on such otherwise flawless skin as yours. And your hand…"

"No offense, but I know what vampire blood can do to a person. I don't really fancy becoming a drug addict, or being bonded to you…Not that you're not a nice guy, but I need—"

"Your independence."

"Exactly. I don't really want anyone knowing all my business."

"The bond would only form if we exchanged blood. If you only take my blood, and I don't take from you, you won't be completely bonded to me. Though, I would never force you to do anything against your will," he said, trying to convince her.

She studied his face for a moment, as if studying it long enough she could find some deeper meaning there. It was an interesting face; so full of expression, and yet so subtle at the same time. Or maybe it was the subtlety of his expressions that made them seem so vibrant to her. Like it was something shared just between the two of them.

Moira knew that whether she took his blood or not, they were bonded on some certain level. She didn't understand it, and she was fairly sure that he didn't understand it either, but in the few words that they had exchanged, she found herself completely fascinated. For some reason, the feeling seemed to be mutual, and she needed to know why. Just as he needed to know the miracle of why she wasn't afraid of him.

"Are you afraid of me?" he asked.

"No…I know on an intellectual level that I should be, that you could snap my spine in half if you wanted to, but…you won't."

"Even before now, you weren't afraid."

"When I was a little girl and something frightened me, my father would always make me face whatever it was that I was afraid of. One time, I remember I was afraid of getting a flu shot, and he looked at me and said, "Either it'll kill you, or it won't, but there's no sense in being afraid about it." Now that I'm older, I realize how right he was."

"Then you know you have nothing to fear from my blood," he said. She nodded, and he raised his wrist to his razor-sharp teeth, and tore open the vein. The metallic smell of it immediately filled her nostrils, and she tried her best not to gag. Latching on to his wrist, she began to drink, doing her best to ignore the smell. After several moments, she didn't notice it at all. All she noticed was the rich, almost sweet, taste of his blood flowing across her tongue. Time became fluid and moved too quickly—or perhaps it was too slowly—for her to keep up. Sometime later, he gently pulled his wrist away from her.

Blood was smeared around her mouth, and it looked strange on her. Her mouth was so mobile—always a part of her expressions: frowning, smiling, sitting in a tight line while she thought—that it was odd to have it covered, practically concealed, by the blood on her face. Without a second thought, he wiped her mouth with the sleeve of his shirt.

"You're never going to get those bloodstains out," she said between gasps. The energy flowing through her was like nothing she had ever experienced. She felt the force of her heart pushing her own blood through her body. She was aware of just how warm her body was as opposed to the coolness of his. She became very, _very _aware of the closeness of his body, and how easy it would be to wrap her arms around him…

_Nope, _she thought. _Not going there right now. Inappropriate feelings. Bad, inappropriate feelings…are they inappropriate if you felt them before the blood drinking? Damnit all to hell…_

"That's…intense," she gasped, for there were really no other words to describe it. He grinned, for he knew what she meant. He was feeling something similar…something practically identical. She collapsed forwards, leaning into his chest, completely overwhelmed by the sheer sense of _power _that she was getting.

"Yes…yes, it is." If he had needed to breathe, he would be equally breathless. It wasn't always like this. Sometimes, he felt like he was loosing something, like his life was draining away. But not now. If anything, he felt more alive in that moment than he had in the thousands of years that he existed.

"I should clean up." Her voice was unsteady.

"The bathroom is two doors down," he answered, though he was reluctant to let her go. He liked the feel of her in his arms. The warmth of her body, the softness of her curves, the silk of her hair. He reveled in the feel of her, and couldn't bring himself to let her go just yet. "Just give me a minute more."

She closed her eyes and basked in the sensation. This was the most intimate she had ever been in all of her twenty three years—after all, what could be more intimate than sharing blood? Never had she felt more connected to another living—for how could he be anything else when he had the power to make her _feel _again—being, despite her engagement a year and a half back. There was a sense of duality in her mind, as if she had absorbed some of him into herself. The moment was too intimate to be described properly with words, for words seemed so very limiting for such a vast experience.

The moment was destroyed when they heard Eric's voice coming towards them. "Godric! We've got—" He fell silent when he found Moira in Godric's embrace, blood smeared on both of them.

"It's time to go. We've got trouble, and sunrise is in thirty-seven minutes."

* * *

**A/N: **A huge, huge, huge thank you to everyone who read/reviewed/favorited/alerted. The support warms me to the bottom of my small, shriveled heart. Review, please. =)


	4. Just as the Sun was Rising

"What kind of trouble?" Moira asked. Godric felt her tense in his arms, and a moment later she was no longer in them. She sat perched on the edge of the sofa, the stain of Godric's blood still on her face. Her back ramrod straight, and her eyes—which had been so full of wonder and compassion a moment before—were now cold and calculating.

"Radical humans rights group. They had one of their members convince a vampire to feed off him in the bathroom, and now they have the excuse they need to attack us. The whole crew is waiting in the parking lot," Eric said, his voice cold and sharp.

"How many are there? Any weapons?"

"Thirty-five or forty. Armed with silver, stakes, crossbows and cars."

"And time. Is there a back exit?"

"Yes, but they've got it guarded."

Throughout the whole exchange, Godric watched his child and this young woman with a keen interest. Eric was a warrior; he had been when Godric changed him a thousand years ago, and he still was. Moira was twenty-five at the most, and had the same hardened look that Eric did. How was that, he wondered. How was she able to be so compassionate, and then so fierce in just another moment?

"Y'all are vampires…You can just run," Moira pointed out, matter-of-factly.

"We're not leaving you here," Godric said quietly, though his determination was obvious.

"I'm not telling you to. But we can play this off…I'll be a victim that you've held here, who has obviously suffered immensely. They'll be distracted with me, won't pay attention to the noise at the back exit, and it gives you two a chance to get away. How many are at the back exit?"

"Eight."

"It shouldn't be too bad for you then. You have a pistol handy?" she asked. Eric studied her warily.

"It's under the cash register on the bar," Godric told her, not waiting for Eric to make a decision. She needed something to help keep her safe, and a pistol was as good as anything. Moira nodded and quickly left the room to go get it. The minute she was gone, Godric looked to Eric. "We can't let her do this."

"Why not? You've even said she was capable of taking care of herself—"

"Not against that many people—"

"Your presence is only going to make things more dangerous for me. I can sell it," Moira said from where she was standing in the doorway, studying the pistol in her hands. "Let me do this."

"They could destroy you," Godric said, crossing the room to where she stood. He grabbed her shoulders gently, but it was enough to shake her up a bit. "They could kill you—"

"They won't…I mean, if they don't buy it, then by all means, please save me. But you two don't have much time. I do. The longer we sit here and argue, the less time you have. Come sunrise, they can burn this place to the ground, and you're dead as a doornail," she explained to him. He knew she was right, but he didn't like it one bit.

"Moira—"

"I'll be fine, Godric. Trust me. The decision's made. Let's go," she cut him off. She knew that she couldn't let him finish that sentence, because then she would start to realize just how dangerous this situation was, and then fear would start to creep in. If that happened, it was all shot to hell.

"Wait. When you get free…here's an address. Wait for us there," Godric said, pressing a slip of paper into her palm. She nodded and tucked it into the safety of her bra. She stared at him for a moment, unsure of what to say. He had just given her one of the most…intense and connective experiences of her life, and she was about to walk away from him. She wanted to do _something. _ Hug him, kiss him, squeeze his hand…The faintest touch would suffice. Just enough to acknowledge the…whatever that was between them.

But then, kissing him would also acknowledge that she could lose him, and that wasn't an option she was going to entertain. She didn't really know what the hell was going on between them—other than the fact that he had given her his blood, and she didn't really even know exactly what that was going to do to her—but she knew that she didn't want to lose him.

So instead of lingering, she nodded tersely and started towards the front door. She glanced at Eric over her shoulder. "If something goes wrong, I full expect you to come save my ass the minute you get a chance. I don't have to remind you that you're the reason I'm here...And make sure Godric is saf—"

"He'll be fine. Don't worry about him. Worry about yourself. If you die, he's going to kill me."

"Well I'm not planning on dying," she said with a reckless grin.

"Neither was I."

Before he had a chance to elaborate, he was gone. She tucked the pistol inside her jacket, and checked to make sure everything was as it should be. Appearance was vital, she knew, so she slapped her cheeks a few times, bit down _hard _on her lip, and studied herself in the mirror behind the bar. More disheveled, she thought. I need to look more disheveled. She pulled her hair from its ponytail and shook it about, before tugging on her clothes. For the final touch, she pulled her silver St. Christopher pendant from where it was tucked under her shirt, and staggered out the door.

There was a crowd of people standing outside, all carrying heavy, pointed wooden objects and wearing silver. She stood there for a moment, trembling, eyes wide with seeming terror. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she fell to the pavement, arms tight around her. The crowd moved in on her, weapons clutched tightly.

"Please don't hurt me. I can't go back to them, please! Please, I'm a good girl, please…" She babbled on and on, begging for mercy. The more she spoke, she saw the faces of those in the crowd begin to soften. "Please, they…I was just here looking for a friend, and they wouldn't let me…I couldn't get away…Please, I just want to go home…"

An middle-aged woman—who reminded Moira very much of her mother, if her mother was a bigoted idiot—stepped forward and crouched beside her, taking Moira's hand in hers. "She's wearing silver," the woman called over her shoulder to the others. "Fangbanger wouldn't wear silver."

"I'm no fangbanger. My friend came here on a dare, and I was just coming to pick her up, but they didn't let me…they wouldn't let me go," Moira spouted, hoping that she could keep her mind working faster than her mouth. If she let the act slipped, screwed up one of her facts, they were going to notice.

"It's okay. I'm June, and we're gonna take care of you. They aren't going to hurt you anymore. Did they…bite you?" The woman's voice was full of disgust as she forced the last words out of her mouth.

"Not…They were going to, but…they didn't, though. They didn't. Thank you…thank you…" She trailed off as she began to sob. These people were all about emotion—it was what their entire campaign against vampires was based upon—and they ate it up.

"Here, can you stand up?" She nodded weakly and pushed herself to her feet, still crying. June reluctantly wrapped an arm around her and led her through the crowd, which parted like the Red Sea. No one wanted to touch her, it seemed. It was like they were afraid they were going to catch some disease from her. Moira pitied the poor soul that actually had been attacked by a vampire. This crowd didn't seem very sympathetic. They wanted a symbol to fight for, not an actual human being with feelings that would need to be taken care of.

"We'll take you down to the police station, okay? Is that alright?" Moira nodded, her eyes vacant. "Is there someone I can call for you?"

"No," she whispered. She sure as hell didn't want them having information about her family. "No, I don't have any family."

"What about a friend or a coworker?"

"I don't want to…I don't want them to get involved in this…What if those vampires decide to…I don't—I can't…"

"I understand. We'll get you to the police, and they can handle it, okay?" The woman opened the door of the car and guided Moira into the backseat. Moira allowed her to buckle her in and close the door. A larger man sat in the front seat of the car, and June slid into the driver's seat. Moira stared out of the window, watching the horizon as they drove her to the police station. She needed to buy Godric—and Eric, too—as much time as she could.

The minutes ticked by until finally the sun emerged over the horizon. The minute she saw the sun, she pulled the gun from where she had it stowed away, and knocked the man across the back of the head. Unfortunately, he didn't go down like she had expected. Instead, he turned around and started grappling with her. His hand clamped over her wrist, and she let the gun fall to the floor. At least that way she couldn't accidentally get shot. With one well-placed kick to the side of his head, he slumped against the window. Moira picked up the gun from where it lay in the floorboards and pressed the muzzle to June's temple.

"Pull this car over right now," Moira whispered, her voice low and deadly.

"You stupid fangbanger," June spat at her. "You're choosing them over us—"

"I never knew I had to choose. But I do know that if you thought I was anything other than a victim in this, you were going to hurt me. You're the one that's forcing me to choose."

"They could snap you in half—and would—without a second though."

"I could decorate the dashboard with your brain matter without a second thought," Moira answered, pressing the gun harder into the woman's temple. "Now pull over and let me out."

"Why? You're just going to kill me anyway," June asked.

"I'm not gonna kill you unless you make me. I just want you to let me out so I can be on my merry way." When she didn't pull over, Moira shot out the radio. "The next shot blows your toe off. And if that happens, you're going to lose control of the car, and most likely run it into one of those telephone poles over there. Being in the backseat, I'll probably be fine. You, on the other hand…" She didn't finish her sentence because she knew that June's mind would come up with worse things than she ever could. With a sigh of frustration, June pulled over.

"Thanks for the ride," she said, giving June a quick hug and hopping from the car.

As soon as her feet hit the pavement, Moira took off running. She knew that June was going to try to follow her, to take revenge for that embarrassment, and she wasn't going to let that happen. She cut through a store and came out on the other side, away from the street where anyone could see her. With her head held high, her stance screaming "don't mess with me," she jogged three blocks before stopping in a convenience store to get a map.

She quickly pulled located the address Godric had given her on the map. It wasn't too terribly far by car, but she sure as hell didn't want to walk. Glancing at the clerk behind the counter, she asked, "Can you tell me where the nearest bus stop is?"

"Down two blocks to that way," he said, pointing—but only after he had done a double-take. She knew she looked like hell, with a bruised cheek and rumpled clothes, but she had other things to worry about.

"Thanks so much," she said sweetly, and took off again. As she was sitting on the bus, she took a moment to deal with everything that had happened to her in the past day or so. She'd been kidnapped—but not without a fight—broken her hand, drank vampire blood, and held someone at gunpoint. She'd never been arrested before, but at this rate, her squeaky clean record wouldn't stay that way very long. This life that she found herself dropped in was dangerous—it very well could get her killed—but she hadn't felt this _alive _in too long, and she knew she couldn't give it up.

Half an hour later, she got off at her stop and began walking. The address Godric had given her was farther out—she had another two miles to walk, but this was as far as the bus would take her. The road was in desperate need of paving—potholes were rampant. When she finally arrived at the address, it wasn't what she was expecting. It was a red brick, two-story house with green shutters. Not exactly the kind of place she would imagine two vampires living in. She noticed that the shutters were unlatched on one window. With a smile, she carefully pulled them open and climbed inside.

"Godric?" she called. He was probably asleep, she knew, but it couldn't hurt.

"I'm here," he answered. She followed the sound of his voice to a small room with no windows. He was sitting on the edge of a bed, still in the clothes he had been wearing earlier, waiting for her. He rose immediately and before she had a chance to process everything, he was gently touching her cheek. "You're hurt."

"It's just a bruise. It'll fade in a day or so. I just want to sleep," she whispered. She was coming off the adrenaline high, and new that she was going to crash at any minute. The feel of his fingers on her skin was intoxicating, and she couldn't resist turning into the touch.

"Of course. There's a guest room upstairs—"

"Can I stay…with you?" The urge to touch him that she felt earlier was back, stronger than before, and she was too tired to fight it. She wanted more than anything to collapse into bed, snuggle into his arms, and lose herself in sleep. She could deal with the craziness of it all when she woke up.

"If you wish."

"I do wish," she said hesitantly. He smiled at her, a genuine smile that reached all the way to his eyes, and gestured to the bed. She kicked off her shoes and pulled off her jewelry, and climbed in beside him. There were just a few inches between them, but it felt like miles. The heat of her body so close to him was enticing, but he was determined to respect her limits. "Can you…hold me?"

He nodded and acquiesced. Her head rested against his cool chest, his arms wrapped around her waist. His embrace was gentle, as though he wasn't capable of tearing her apart. But she didn't think about the violence. He may have been physically capable of it, but he wasn't going to hurt her. His fingers were running through her hair, comforting her with slow, steady strokes.

Godric could hear her heart beating, her steady breathing. Sleep called to him, but he didn't want to leave her in the waking world alone. She was afraid, he knew. He also knew that she was letting him see her fear, which meant more than anything. She was the kind of woman who wasn't used to being vulnerable, and she was letting him see her weakness. Even more than that, she was letting him comfort her.

He kissed the top of her head lightly, almost out of instinct. Then her forehead, then her cheeks. They stared at each other for a moment, unsure of where it was going. It was comfort, yes, but where did comfort stop and attraction begin? Before either could answer the question, he was kissing her.

The kiss was gentle, but passionate and possessive. He tightened his arms around her, as hers slid around his neck. Even when his fangs extended, she didn't pull away. It was obvious to both of them what this kiss meant. He was hers, and she was his. When she finally did pull away, she was completely breathless. She moved in to kiss him again, but he stopped her with a finger over her lips.

"Later," he whispered. "We need to sleep."

"How do you fight it? This feeling? Can't feel that?' she asked, her voice full of wonder.

"You don't…but we have plenty of time. Now, we sleep."

She nestled back into his embrace, and shortly, they were both asleep.

* * *

**Author's Note: **HUGE thanks for the feedback, y'all. The response I've gotten is pretty amazing, and I totally appreciate it. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please review! =)


	5. Reason

Moira was still sleeping when Godric awoke, but he didn't move. She had shifted in her sleep, and was now wrapped completely around him. Her arms held him tightly, her legs were entwined with his, and she was halfway on top of him. But it wasn't her legs—nice though they were—or her curves that caught his attention. She was holding his hand, their fingers intertwined. Her fingers were so small and think in his, though he wouldn't call them delicate. They were calloused, with short-cut nails and rough cuticles. They were strong, capable hands…hands that perfectly suited the woman in his arms.

When they had fallen asleep, the bruise on her jaw had been a nasty, dark purplish-blue color. Now it was the faded yellow-green color of a nicely healing bruise. She had brushed it off like it was nothing, like it happened all the time. Did it? How was she able to be so fearless, and at the same time so compassionate? She was a hard woman, he had seen it in her eyes, but there was also a tenderness there. She was a mass of contradictions, and he wanted to understand her.

Even her belongings that were set so neatly on the bedside table reflected her multiple facets. There was a silver St. Christopher pendant and her silver rings, right next to the small pistol that she had carried with such ease. When she had held it, it seemed to almost be a part of her, but then, so did her silver jewelry. Hand sanitizer and nail clippers were spilling out of her jacket pocket. He smiled.

He felt her stir as she woke. She blinked several times, trying to push the sleep from her mind. She yawned and knew that she had a serious case of morning breath, but Godric didn't recoil. He heard her heart rate increase as she became aware of their…interesting situation, and a blush rose in her cheeks. Self-consciously, she disentangled her legs from him, but didn't leave his embrace. His arms were just too comfortable to leave. For several moments, they lay there in silence, enjoying the moment too much to break the silence. Finally, Godric spoke.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine. Pretty good, actually. Less sore than I thought I would be, and a little makeup will cover the bruise." She poked exploratorily at her jaw.

"The bruise is barely noticeable," he whispered, cupping her face gently.

"What?"

"The bruise is practically gone. My blood made you heal faster…that's one of the side effects. You'll heal faster than usual for a while."

"Well that's…handy. Does that explain why I slept like the dead?" she asked teasingly.

"No. That would be your adventures these past few days. Most people would be…most would not have handled it so well." He ran his fingers through her hair, enjoying the silky feel of it.

"Have you heard about the bar? Is it alright?"

"I do not know. I haven't spoken with Eric. After I see you home—"

They were interrupted by a crisp knock on the door. Instinctively, Moira pulled the sheets up to her chin, trying to cover herself—despite the fact that she was fully clothed. Godric tightened his arm around her waist, and looked at her questioningly, asking her permission before giving a response. She nodded, and he answered. "Come in."

The door opened, and Eric stood in the doorway—taking up practically the whole space. Upon seeing Moira in Godric's arms, he smiled, though it disappeared instantly with one look from Godric. He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, seemingly relaxed, though there was an underlying tension that he could not hide from his maker. "Godric, I need a word."

"You can speak in front of Moira," Godric replied simply. She studied Eric's face, and saw the seriousness there.

"You know, it's okay. I need a human moment…And I'm betting that you don't have any toothpaste or toilet paper, do you?" she said, trying to extract herself from the awkward situation.

"There's some in the bathroom," Eric answered shortly. She quickly left the room. They hadn't specified where the bathroom was, but she figured it would give her plenty of opportunity to explore a bit, and to avoid the boys' conversation.

The minute she was out of earshot, Eric spoke. "Fangtasia survived. The neighboring store owner called the police before they could burn it down."

"Good."

"The American Vampire League heard of our troubles, and is sending a representative to help…clear things up. Nan Flanagan is on a flight as we speak. Apparently, your Moira—"

"She is not mine, Eric. Do not make that mistake."

Eric nodded. "Moira is wanted by the police for car-jacking and assault. She apparently held the driver at gun point and demanded that they let her out. Flanagan is demanding to speak to her…She's ready to tear her apart, figuratively speaking. She's calling it a 'PR disaster."

"Everything is a disaster to her. It will pass."

"Well, she's demanding Moira's presence…You also didn't sign the proper forms before you left Dallas, so they'll want you to do that. Damn bureaucrats."

"I'll sign them. It's just making everything official. Moira can decide if she wants to speak with Ms. Flanagan," Godric stated calmly, not betraying the panic that he felt. Humans had no place in vampire politics. Yes, Flanagan put up a good image of being friendly for the viewing public, but in reality, vampire politics were considerably darker than any human knew. He didn't like the idea of Moira being involved, but that was her choice.

"Pam is picking her up at the airport in an hour. We're meeting at Fangtasia."

Eric heard Moira before she coughed discreetly to reveal her presence, but didn't move until then. She was still wearing the clothes that she had on when he took her from her apartment, and to a human nose, that might be acceptable. Not so much for a vampire.

"You're meeting who at Fangtasia?" she asked.

"Nan Flanagan. She has requested your presence. You're also wanted by the police for car jacking and assault," Eric informed her, none too gently. Godric winced at the harshness of his words. Moira was silent for a long moment.

"Okay. Well, that…complicates things, doesn't it?"

"Slightly," Eric deadpanned.

"Why does Ms. Flanagan want to speak with me?"

"Because your car-jacking and assault is what put us in this position—"

"It is not. What put you in this position was the crazies outside your bar with silver and crossbows. We'll just tell the cops that they kidnapped me, and I did what I had to do to get away. It's their word verses mine," she said, her voice calm.

Godric was sitting up in bed, and Moira perched herself on the edge, close enough for him to put his arm around her. She liked this way his hand rested on her waist—it was comfortable, and it felt…right. Of course, that was probably the blood bond talking—at least, that's what the more cynical part of her was thinking. But she couldn't deny that something had been there from the start…and she took comfort in his presence.

If you don't want to go, we can take you hom—" Godric began.

"Ms. Flanagan is just going to track me down and find some other way to get in touch with me. There's no point in not going."

"What's more concerning is that you would be a human involved in vampire politics," he said gently. "Though we lobby for equal rights, sometimes we tend to think of humans as being…"

"Expendable?"

"Sometimes it makes you feel more powerful to see how easily broken humans are."

Upon hearing his words, she frowned. Eric, sensing the tension, said crisply, "Well, be ready to go in an hour. You can get cleaned up in the bathroom, and I'll find something for you to wear." Then he quickly left the room, not wanting to be involved in the conversation that was brewing.

"How easily "broken" we are? What do you mean?" she asked, though she had a pretty clear idea of what he meant.

"We're much stronger, faster than humans, and we'll live forever. After a few years of being nearly invincible, it can get…dull. When you're around other vampires all the time, your strength becomes…commonplace. Sometimes we remind ourselves of power by examining the weakness of humans."

"So vampires get off on watching human weakness. They enjoy watching us die because it makes them feel powerful. Is that what you're telling me?"

"Not them. I'm a vampire, Moira. It's not just them. For me, it's 'we.' I've done it, too," he corrected, his voice heavy. She could see the disappointment in his face. He was disappointed that what he said was true. He was disappointed that there were creatures in this world that took joy in the suffering and weakness of others, and he was mostly disappointed that he was once like that.

"No. It's they," she whispered. "The fact that you're warning about this is enough to tell me that. You've had plenty of opportunity to hurt me, and you haven't. You've kinder and more gentle than some humans that I've known. You may be a vampire, and maybe at one time you enjoyed hurting people…but you don't anymore. You're not that…person anymore." She reached out and touched his face. Her hands were warm and comforting against his cheek. Memories of their earlier kiss came back to the forefront of both their minds.

"I don't want you to get hurt—"

"I won't. I have the strangest feeling that you're not going to let that happen. Besides, I'm pretty capable of taking up for myself," she said. "Now, I've got to shower and get changed. I'm surprised you didn't kick me out of bed, I smell so bad."

She grinned and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Warmth spread through her at the contact, and if his heart still beat, it would have skipped one. The peck on the cheek was not enough. As she stood, he grabbed her hand and pulled her back to the bed. She was smiling as he kissed her. His lips were cool against her, but it didn't matter. She wanted more. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her closer, needing more. Needing her.

When she pulled away, she was breathless again. "I have to…shower."

"I know." He kissed her lightly behind the ear and felt her shiver.

"I'm going now…" He kissed her jaw. "…to shower…" He kissed her neck. "…right now…I'm going…" She finally managed to pull herself away, though not without reluctance.

Her shower was brief, but wonderful. She was actually feeling human and again, all the grime of the past few days washed away. They didn't have a hair dryer—it was a nest full of men, after all—so she pulled her hair up into a bun and slipped into the clothes that Eric had dug up—a pair of grey sweatpants and a black tank top, all of which were too big. It wasn't what she would have chosen for a meeting with the head of AVL, but it was just going to have to work.

She was ready to go in forty-five minutes, and met Godric and Eric at the door. They were both dressed in suits—Eric's black, Godric's grey. Yeah, she was definitely feeling underdressed.

When they pulled up in front of Fangtasia, there was a line outside the door, a heavy-set vampire at the front checking IDs. They walked straight inside, Eric nodding at the vampire—Chow, he called him. They made their way straight back into the office, where Nan Flanagan was already waiting for them, sitting behind Eric's desk. Eric, seeing this, practically growled at her and sat on the sofa. Godric sat on the sofa, and for a moment, Moira was ready to sit next to him. Flanagan looked less happy when she saw her, so Moira shifted and sat squarely on Godric's lap. If he was surprised, he didn't show it on his face. Instead, he played along and put his hands possessively on her waist.

"You must be the human that fucked us over," Nan Flanagan said, eyeing Moira. "Do you know what it's going to take to clean this up? You car-jacked someone—"

"I didn't car-jack anyone. I was saving my own ass…and theirs," she said, gesturing to Eric and Godric. "If we didn't do something, we were all dead. I did what I had to do—"

"You didn't think to call the police?" Flanagan shot back.

"Oh, sure. We'll call the police, who all think that vampires can take care of themselves, and we're fried crispy…either by the sun, or by the gasoline they had in their cars," Moira said, as if she were explaining something to a particularly stupid child.

"Do you know what this looks like? I'm not paid enough to clean up messes that vampires make, more or less the ones that stupid humans make. We've been fighting to downplay the image of us as cold-blooded killers—"

"And your yelling at me right now is doing a lot to change that—"

"—and you're just making it look like we inspire fanatical human behavior. Your actions are reflecting on us, and they're making us look like—"

"Don't you care that they would have killed everyone in here? I stopped that. I saved lives! Use that in your little PR parade. You can twist this to your advantage. They pushed us to "radical behavior" in order to save our own lives. I've seen your debates. You're more than capable of making this work for you. I also know that you're capable of getting me off these assault and car-jacking charges. So, do both, and you've covered your ass well."

Everyone in the room was silent, in awe of the speech they had just heard from the tiny human woman standing up to Nan Flanagan. Even the vampire spokeswoman herself was shocked into silence. It had been years since any of them had heard this sort of speech to a vampire.

"You know your shit," Flanagan responded finally.

"Damn right I do. Now, go do your job and clean this shit up," Moira said, her voice full of disgust. Without another word, she left the room, leaving a group of shocked and silent vampires in her wake. Eric couldn't help but smile, and Godric followed her out shortly. She was sitting at the end of the bar, sipping a drink.

"That was very dangerous, what you just did," he said, sitting beside her.

"Perhaps, but it got the job done. This way, Flanagan will use her influence to get me off all charges, and she helps herself. Besides, I'm fine." She took his hand in hers, and intertwined their fingers.

"I know you are. But there could be repercussions. Nan will get the charges dropped, but she won't be happy about it."

"Well, with a name like Nan Flanagan, I'd be surprised if she's ever happy. But you're right, she doesn't seem like the type to let a sleeping dog lie. But, I'll jump off that bridge when I get there," she said, downing the rest of her drink. Godric sniffed and smiled, surprised.

"Tonic and lime juice?" he asked.

"Yeah. For when you don't want to drink, but need a reason to sit at a bar. It gives you something to do with your hands," she answered with a grin. "You want one?"

He brought her hand to his lips, and laid a gossamer kiss on her knuckles.

"I have a reason to sit at the bar. I'm looking at her."

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**A/N:** I am so sorry for the delay. I had a huge paper due and it took up a lot of time. Who'd have thought, right? Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it, and a huge thanks to everyone who reviewed. Thanks! Please review! =)


	6. Baggage

**A/N: **A HUGE thanks for all the support on this story. Y'all are awesome. Here is the next chapter for your reading pleasure. I hope you enjoy it. Reviews are my AB negative!!! =)  


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They sat at the bar, Moira sipping her drink, and Godric watching her do so. As the club got more and more crowded, Moira began to pick out people and vampires to watch, following them as they crossed the room, studying their movements, and smiling quietly to herself when they would do something strange or interesting. Godric continued to study her, and took pleasure in watching her smile. Nan Flanagan stopped by long enough to get Godric to sign some papers, and then stalked away, still pissed that she had been rendered speechless by a human. Eventually, the hour grew late—or early, depending on how you looked at it—and he could tell that she was beginning to tire. Her eyelids were heavy, and her speech was getting more and more disconnected.

"You mentioned that you were from Shreveport?" he asked.

"Yeah. I live here with my family when I'm not away at school," she answered, jerking her eyes open and trying to focus on him.

For some reason, her mention of a family struck him as odd. Perhaps it was because she hadn't mentioned them to him before. Or maybe it was because he saw her as a pillar of strength, someone standing alone, ready to face whatever it was that the world threw at her. But whatever the reason, as soon as she mentioned having a family, he wanted to know more. Of course, he wanted to know more about everything in her life. He wanted to know her more.

"Family?"

"Yeah. As far as families go, we're pretty normal. Mom and Da got married, moved here, settled in a little brick house in the suburbs—complete with a white picket fence. They had me and my sister, albeit seven years apart, and are highly invested in our education. Kids are the future, after all. And one day, they'll grow old, and my sister and I will take care of them, just like good, loyal children are supposed to. Perfectly normal."

He was again surprised by her description of her self-perceived normalcy. It was hard to imagine her in the setting she had so glibly laid out for him, because she was anything but normal. He did notice, however, that she had left out any reference to her previous engagement—despite still wearing her claddagh ring telling the world that she was spoken for. There was no mention of a fiancé in her family listing.

"Where did you learn to shoot?" he asked.

"Godric, this is the South. Learning to shoot is normal," she said with a grin. Her smile was contagious, and he felt one pulling at the corners of his mouth. He didn't try to suppress it.

"And the martial arts?"

She was quiet for a long time before answering the question. Several times, she opened her mouth as though to speak, and then closed it tightly once again, as if she couldn't decide what she was going to say. When she finally spoke, it was with forced lightness.

"I've wanted to be an investigative journalist since I found out there was such a creature. When you know you're going to make your living pissing people off, you invest in a few self-defense classes."

He studied her face, and knew she was lying. Perhaps it wasn't a bold-faced lie; perhaps it was lying by omission. He could read her body language and tell. She had crossed her arms across her chest subconsciously, as if to closer herself away. For the first time, she was hiding something from him, and he knew it.

She noticed his intense scrutiny of her. "What?" she asked.

"You're not telling me everything," he answered. He wasn't angry, just curious. What was she hiding, and why would she hide it from him? "But you don't have to. I won't push."

She smiled gratefully, though there was an edge of sadness to her smile. It didn't reach all the way to her eyes, or make little wrinkles in the corners of her mouth. It was the first expression he saw that didn't suit her well.

"Would you like me to drive you home?"

"If you don't mind, I'd rather walk," she said. He nodded and rose from the bar, offering her hand. She quickly slipped her ring off and stowed it away in her pocket, before sliding her hand into his. Their fingers intertwined, and it felt right. For Godric, it felt like coming home. They looked surprisingly normal as they exited the bar, hand-in-hand.

Normally, it would be dangerous to walk down the street in the middle of the night, but now she felt safe. She knew she was capable of handling herself in an emergency, but she also knew that Godric wasn't going to let anything happen to her. His cold hand was oddly comforting, driving away thoughts—and people—that she didn't want to think about. She knew he was curious, and yet, he was being gentle with her, giving her space. Just by being there, he was fighting her demons. He was just going to let her be. He deserves to have his questions answered, she thought.

"Your name is Moira Ahern. Irish?" he asked, despite the fact that he already knew the answer. He was trying to steer the conversation back to something slightly more…neutral than whatever it was that he had reminded her of.

"You're looking at a first generation Irish-American. Both my parents are from Dublin. They wanted us to have good, solid Irish names so that we don't forget where we come from. So, Moira, from the gaelic for 'bitter," she explained, her voice ironic.

"And are you bitter, Moira?"

She stopped dead in her tracks and stared at him. The city around them seemed to stop moving. The noises—brakes screeching, cars honking, leaves rustling—all stopped, and the world was still. Neither of them moved until she finally spoke.

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, I am."

She looked so horribly empty in that moment, so profoundly sad. Her features screamed to him that she had lost something—or someone. Of course, it all made sense now. The way she seemed to turn her emotions on and off like a light switch, her fearlessness. She had experienced deep and profound loss.

"Who did you lose?" he asked, unable to keep the question from passing across his lips. She raised her left hand, where she wore the claddagh ring on her fourth finger. Her fiancé, he realized. She had lost her fiancé.

"Sean," she said, so quietly that even he could barely hear her. "His name was Sean." Even speaking his name was painful for her. The very tone of her voice made his heart ache—despite the fact that it hadn't beat in over two thousand years. She was so still and so tense, he feared that if she moved, she would shatter into a thousand pieces that he would never be able to put back together again. He carefully wrapped his arms around her, as if to hold her together.

He could feel the emblem on her St. Christopher medal as it burned into his chest, but that pain was tolerable. What was intolerable was her pain, her tears that were now streaming down her cheeks and onto his shirt. But his pain was something he could deal with. Hers was not. He guided her to a bench, and sat her down.

She tucked her knees against her chest, curling herself into a tiny ball, as the tears continued to fall. He pulled her onto his lap, and felt her fist her fingers into the front of his suit jacket, clinging to him. He just held her against him, letting her cry. After several long minutes, she stopped, and just sat there in silence.

"Do you want to tell me about him?" he asked gently.

"Not really…But I should. It helps to talk, right? Isn't that what they say? You're supposed to talk about these things?"

"You don't have to if you don't want to." He kissed the top of her head comfortingly.

"Sean and I met my junior year of college…we were so different. I was cold, and logical, and jaded…and he wasn't. He was so happy-go-lucky…so full of life. I wanted to be a journalist—still do—and one day in class he called me out, and told me that I wasn't as jaded as I said I was. He said that I wanted to expose the wrongdoers and bring justice to the world. I told him I was just curious, and we hit it off from there. He was an English major…wanted to be a teacher.

"He was so good with children. I brought him h-home for a weekend, and my sister absolutely adored him. My parents loved him…hell, even the dog liked him. My mom told me later that while I was at work, he asked their permission to marry me…" She stopped for second, trying to catch her breath, trying to slow the stream of tears that were again running down her cheeks.

"He even proposed with a claddagh ring. My parents loved that…I said yes, of course. We wouldn't get m—" She couldn't bring herself to say the word "—until after we had both graduated…Sean worked with underprivileged kids in an after school program, and one day, he told me that he thought one of his kids of was being abused, so he called social services. The family was furious…and Sean…he didn't turn up at breakfast the next morning, so I called the police. Th-they said it was too early to file a missing persons report, so I went over there myself."

Godric was glad she couldn't see his face, to see the horror there. He knew what was coming, and it was something that he would never wish on anyone. Even when he was at his worst, he would never wish something like that on anyone, human or vampire.

"It smelled so bad…I could smell the blood all over the place, and he…he was in…I couldn't recognize him. His face…he was…they had to use his dental records." The dam broke, and her words flowed like water. She kept speaking faster and faster, trying to push through the horrible end of it all, and all he could do was sit there and hold her while she cried for her dead lover. "He was…scattered all over the place, and I just wanted to put him back together again, and I couldn't because I couldn't find all the pieces, and the blood…it wouldn't go back _in, _and I just wanted to make everything okay, but nothing was okay. He wouldn't go back _together…_The next day I started taking jujitsu."

He hadn't realized that he was crying until he noticed the bloody puddle in her hair. She didn't cry again, and he almost wished that she would. He wanted her to get it all out, to let it all go. But when she spoke again, he knew that she would be okay.

"And now you're here, and I know that he would want me to be happy…"

"But…"

"But what if I lose you, too? What someone, like those wackos at the bar, tries to take you away from me?" she asked, looking up at him for the first time since they had sat down.

"I won't let them. We're bonded, you and I, and nothing is going to break that," he answered.

"You promise?" He saw the hope return to her eyes, and he felt it in his blood.

"I promise. Now let's get you home." She nodded and stood. Instead of taking her hand, he wrapped his arm around her waist. It wasn't a sign of ownership or possession. The gesture said, "I'm with her. She chose _me_." It wasn't something she had ever expected to see from a vampire, and the surprise pleased her.

They walked through Shreveport, which was quite a long walk, though neither noticed the distance. They passed the churches—some with encouraging messages, others with…less encouraging messages—and Godric realized that God was smiling on him. He had told Sookie that after two thousand years, he could still be surprised, and that in that, he saw God. But now, he couldn't help but think that there was something more to it.

Moira glanced at her watch—four twenty-seven. She didn't have her keys with her; they had been lost in her abrupt move from her apartment to Fangtasia. But it didn't matter. In her mind's eye, she already saw home. She saw herself opening that front gate, walking up the walkway, pulling the spare key from beneath the flowerpot beside the front door, and slipping inside. In the morning, she would see her parents and smooth their ruffled feathers.

Godric. What to do about Godric? Would he be able to make it back to Fangtasia in time for sunrise? Yes, she was sure he would be fine. He was a vampire after all. He could move faster than the human eye could see. But how was she to explain him to her parents? Oh well. None of that actually mattered right then. What mattered was that he was there, and that she was going home.

"Godric?" she asked.

"Yes?"

"At sundown, would you come meet my parents?"

He smiled—a full-on smile that reached all the way to his eyes and made wrinkles at the corner of his mouth. She was smiling, too, unable to keep happiness at bay any longer. "Yes, I'll come meet your parents. How are they going to react to their daughter…seeing a vampire?"

"They'll love you. You're polite, you respect my strength, and you don't seem to mind me carry a concealed weapon. They'll like you, trust me…And here we are. Home sweet home," she said, stopping in front of a red brick house with black shutters and a white picket fence. She pushed the gate open, and he walked her to the front porch.

She bounded up the steps and slipped off her shoes. It was only then that she noticed something wrong. The flower pot—the one where the spare key was usually hidden—was half a foot too far to the right. Godric saw her worried expression, and let his own countenance ask the question: what is wrong? She gripped the door knob carefully, but found the door slightly ajar.

"This is wrong," she whispered.

"Invite me in," he answered quickly, not liking what he smelled inside.

"Godric, come in."

With a silent nod to him, she pushed the door open and they stepped inside. Immediately, the smell almost made her double over. It was metallic and disgusting, and all too familiar. But it wasn't the smell that made her throw up her stomach contents. It wasn't even the plush white carpet being stained a vibrant, bloody red.

What made her lose it was the blood that was seeping through the carpet and in between her toes.


	7. Sugar and Vinegar

In movies, when people discover something traumatic they do one of two things: scream and immediately fall to their knees, or they stand there speechless. Moira did neither of these things. Instead, she threw up her stomach contents all over the floor. It wasn't because she was squeamish—after seeing what happened to Sean, she would never be squeamish about anything—it was because she was facing the possibility of having lost her family.

When she had found Sean, she had only been able to stand there and scream for several minutes. In her mind, she knew that there was nothing she could have done, that no time was really wasted because he was beyond saving. But emotionally, she couldn't help but feel that maybe—just maybe—those minutes were critical. What if she had moved? What if, what if, what if…? This time, she wouldn't let shock freeze her. She would be a woman of action. When she stopped vomited, she straightened herself, wiped her face, and started calling for her family, desperately hoping to get some kind of answer from them. But there was no answer, only silence.

The living room carpet was completely saturated with blood. In some places, the carpet was soaked to capacity and blood puddled on top of it. The formerly beige couch was now splattered with red, and drops of blood were dripping from the mantle piece. Picture frames were broken, magazines scattered about, the coffee table was smashed. The entertainment center doors had been pulled off, and one of the corners was caked with more blood.

"Mom! Da!" she yelled. "Come on, answer me…Tara!" She started moving through the house, methodically checking each room before moving to the next. The farther into the house she went, the more blood there was, and the more unsettled she became. She couldn't lose them. They were her family, her life, and she wasn't ready to let them go. "Da! Tara! Mom!"

Cold hands gripped her arms and stopped her in her tracks just as she was about to enter her sister's blood-stained bedroom. He stopped her short of going inside, but it was too little, too late. Through the open door, she could see a pool of blood on top of her sister's dresser, where she sat to put her makeup on everyday. In her mind's eye, she could almost see someone cracking her sister's face into the dresser top. She clenched her teeth, and fought the urge to retreat inside herself and never come back out.

"They aren't here, Moira. They're gone," Godric whispered, trying to get through to her. She stared at him for a minute, taking in what he was saying, and not wanting to acknowledge the possibility that her family could be dead. There was no way someone could survive this kind of blood loss.

"They're not here," she whispered. Her voice wasn't what he expected. She didn't sound hollow or defeated. Instead, she sounded hopeful. "They aren't here. There aren't any bodies. They could still be alive. We need to call the police."

Godric help up his cell phone. If not for the situation that they were in, she would have found it funny. "I already did. They're on the way."

"It's so much blood, Godric…"

"It's not all real," he answered, running his hand comfortingly over her back.

"What?"

"Some of it is synthetic blood. It smells like the majority of it is."

"Why would someone do that?" she asked, still studying the bloody mess around her.

"For show, most likely. They wanted to scare you, to make a scene."

She gritted her teeth. "It worked. I am scared. I want my family back, and I want them now." She leaned against him and took a deep breath, trying to hold everything together. All the control that she had learned after Sean's death was gone. Her ability to turn her emotions on and off like a light bulb had flown out the window, and she was desperately trying to get it back. When she felt his arms wrap around her, she let go, and let him support her weight.

"The police are here," he told her, just before she heard them push open the door downstairs. There shouts of surprise carried all the way up the stairs, and part of Moira was glad that she wasn't downstairs to see the looks of horror on their faces. "Are you ready?" She nodded, and together, they descended the stairs.

"Jesus Christ!" one of the officers said in disgust as he pulled his foot out of the bloody puddle in front of the door. Upon seeing Moira, he bowed his head in shame, and avoided eye contact. One officer—a tall, broad-shouldered fellow—stepped forward and introduced himself.

"I'm Officer Reyes, Shreveport PD," he said, extending his hand. Moira took it in hers.

"Moira Ahern. M-my family's gone," she whispered. Godric's arm tightened comfortingly around her.

"And you are?" Reyes asked, eyeing Godric cautiously.

"I'm Godric. I was escorting Miss Ahern home, and we found the house like this," he answered, extending his hand. The officer studied him for a moment, as if trying to place him, before a look of recognition crossed over his face.

"You're the vampire from Texas. Your home was bombed by the Fellowship of the Sun."

"Yes, that was me. I decided it was time for a change in scenery," Godric explained, and was thankful that the officer didn't press him any further.

"Miss Ahern, can you tell me exactly what happened?" the officer asked. She nodded and told him everything from the moment she noticed that the front door was slightly ajar. When he asked if she had any enemies, she hesitated to answer, not wanting to bring up the events of that morning—just in case that horrible Flanagan woman hadn't managed to work her PR miracles. But then, her family was missing. Yeah, they took precedence.

"This morning, a group of protestors was outside Fangtasia, ready to burn it to the ground. I…uh…I kept them from doing so—"

"By carjacking them?" Reyes said skeptically. "Charges have been dropped by the way."

"Then you understand what I had to do. They would have killed us all," she said, her voice more controlled than she thought she would have been able to keep it. Then everything clicked into place for her. "Which is why they did this. They took my family because I stood up to them. Find this group, and you'll find my family."

The look on Reyes' face made it perfectly clear that he thought they were going to find her family butchered in a ditch somewhere if they ever found them at all. Moira opened her mouth to give him the what-for, but Godric stopped her, knowing that she would later regret the outburst.

"Officer, much of the blood that you see is synthetic," Godric told him.

The human man arched an eyebrow in surprise. "How can you tell?"

"I can smell the difference. Synthetic blood is enough to fulfill our nutritional needs, and it is close enough for humans to use in blood transfusions, but there is still a slight difference in smell. Whoever did this was probably going for shock factor."

"Thank you. We're just going to take some photos, a few blood samples, and we'll be out of your way," Officer Reyes said. Moira nodded. "The bloody footprints—"

"They're mine," she whispered, burying her face in Godric's shirtfront. He could feel her trembling in his arms, and tried to comfort her, though he knew that when it all sunk in, she was really going to want a shower. She needed to scrub the blood off of her. In the process of looking for her family, she had gotten blood all over her. It stained her hands and feet, the shirt and sweats. There was a trace of blood on her cheek from where she had pushed a strand of hair out of her face. He wasn't going to point out her appearance yet, though. She would take care of it when she felt that she needed to.

As the police left two or so hours later, Moira noticed the lightening sky. "Godric, it's almost light out."

"I know," he said. He was looking out the window, an expectant expression on his face. But there was no joy there, only guilt. "If I had never met you—"

"Life would be far less interesting. Don't do the guilt thing right now, because I can't do it. I need something solid to hold on to right now. Please…be my rock."

There were tears in her eyes, and he could do nothing but pull her close and kiss her. It was a chaste, tender kiss, but was none less meaningful for its tenderness. It told her "Yes, I'll be your rock." It said, "Yes, I'm going to be here. I'm not going to leave you alone." It said, "I care." It told her, "When you're ready to let go, to fall apart, I'll be here, and I'll pick up the pieces." It meant more than many kisses that married couples exchanged.

"Are you going back to Fangtasia?" she asked when he pulled away.

"I thought I'd stay with you, wherever you go."

"Um…my father's workroom in the shed out back is…it's not bloody. There aren't any windows…it could be light-proofed."

"That will work wonderfully," he said, placing another kiss on her forehead. She took him by the hand and lead him through the back yard—past the mutilated corpse of her puppy—to the shed where her father did much of his work. It was a small, metal building set up of concrete block with a heavy padlock on the door. The floor was made of cheap plywood. Moira set to duct taping and possible cracks for light to pass through. Godric quickly punched a hole in the floor and began digging a hole in the dirt.

"Just in case. I'll be safer in the ground," he explained. "Can you cover me?"

She nodded and took the shovel. He laid in the hold and looked up at her, a sad smile on his face. Moira had never had to bury someone she loved, and it was an odd experience, to say the least. What will you do?" he asked.

"During the day?" He nodded. "I'll try to clean up what I can, maybe get some sleep…Does the dirt bother you?"

"No. Safety is the most important, so no, it doesn't. I can't…I just don't want to take any chances. I won't have you lose anyone else," he said quietly. She wanted to kiss him again, but she knew there was no way she would be able to get out of the hole. Instead, she finished filling in the hole, smoothing it over so that it wouldn't look out of place. Having finished her task, she kissed the dirt that he lay beneath. Several feet below the surface, he returned the gesture.

She padlocked the door on the way out, and headed back into the house, her stride purposeful. Cleaning up her house was the last thing on her mind, truth be told. Instead, she was formulating a plan. As they had left the house, the policemen had mentioned that they suspected the local anti-vampire church—the Fellowship of the Sun. She figured that was as good a place to start as any in her search for her family. But she couldn't let Godric know that. He would try to stop her until he could come too, and she couldn't let that happen. She couldn't risk anything happening to him.

In the kitchen, she pulled a piece of bloody stationary off the refrigerator and wrote Godric a note. _The police had a few more questions for me. I should be back shortly, don't worry. Love, Moira. _

Love. She stared at the word, wondering if she should use a different word. No, she would leave it there. It suited. It was right. It was the truth.

Hopefully, he would buy it, and would wait there. She didn't want him anywhere near Fangtasia tonight, not with what she was planning. Of course, much of that plan depended on the Fellowship of the Sun being a good lead. Her gut told her it was. Borrowing the spare key, she got into her father's SUV and headed for the church.

It was a huge, ostentatious building with a cross sticking straight out the top, and a sign out front that said "The end is near. Whose side are you on?" There were not many cars in the parking lot, perhaps because it was a Thursday afternoon and people were still at work. That suited her just fine. That was less people for her to have to deal with. Pulling her dad's Smith & Wesson from the glove box, she headed for the sanctuary.

She pushed open the front door to the sanctuary. If she had expected to find it empty, she was sadly mistaken. There were several people in the pews, heads bowed in prayer. June—the woman from Fangtasia—stood at the altar, a microphone in her hand, spewing anti-vampire trash. She stopped when she saw Moira at the back of the room.

"Where are they?" Moira asked.

"I beg your pardon?" June answered, though it was obvious her ignorance was feigned.

"Where is my family, and what have you done to them?" Moira repeated, barely able to keep the rage from her voice.

"I think you should be more concerned with what's going to happen to you."

"Should I be?"

"Yes. You're a traitor to your species. You associate with demons. Not only will you be punished in this world, but in the next as well." June's voice was full of self-righteousness.

"My family has nothing to do with my disgrace. Let them go or I will take them from you by force," Moira spat, raising the gun.

"You've only, what? Nine shots at the most? That's not going to get you very far. Didn't your mother—nice lady, by the way—teach you that you catch more flies with sugar than vinegar?"

Moira looked at the gun in her hands, and the people gathered around her, poised for action. As much as she hated it, June was right. There was no way she was going to be able to get out of this situation using force. She would just have to resort to using sugar, then.

"Fine…let them go. You can have me instead. That's what you want, right?" Moira said, defeat evident in her voice. June smiled and nodded to several of the waiting men, who quickly took the gun and restrained Moira.

"I'm glad you could be reasonable about this. Gentlemen, you know the drill." As June spoke, they began pulling Moira towards the front of the sanctuary.

"Wait! I want to see my family. I want a moment with my family," she blurted. "All condemned men got their last request, right?"

June nodded. "Give her a moment with her family. After all, it is the last time she'll ever see them."

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**A/N: **So, there it is. A new chapter for you...hope you liked it. Thanks so so much for all the feedback. I really appreciate it. Y'all are awesome. Please review! =)


	8. When I Find Myself in Times of Trouble

Moira let them manhandle her out of the sanctuary and down a hallway. It went against all her instincts to just let these people push her around when she knew that she could take them down at any minute. Of course, they were now armed and she was not, which put a damper on any escape plans that were forming in her mind. And most of all, they had her family. Her mother and father and sister were somewhere in this godforsaken—oh, the irony—building, and she had made her deal with the devil to free them. Now she had to follow through.

The long corridors were lined with rooms, all of which were spaced maybe eight feet apart. They came to one that had someone standing outside it, and pushed open the door to what appeared to be a closet. It was a tiny room—six by six feet, at most—with no windows. For being the Fellowship of the _Sun, _they sure had a lot of rooms with no windows. Of course, she realized, they were used for holding vampires. Vampires like Godric. The more she saw, the gladder she was that she had lied to him in her note.

Her parents and sister were sitting in the corner, leaning against the wall and each other. Tara was favoring her left arm, which had a black knot the size of a tennis ball just above her elbow. Yes, her arm was broken. Her mother had a black eye, and the remnants of a bloody nose. It was her father who looked the worst. Bruises had blossomed under both eyes, telling her that his nose had been broken. There was a large bloody knot on his forehead, probably from being knocked unconscious. She had been expecting find them unconscious and battered beyond recognition, so she was slightly relieved when they were all awake and recognizable. Of course, it was only a slight relief considering their situation. None of them looked the least bit relieved to see her.

"Moira?" Her father was the first to break the shocked silence, and when he did, he didn't sound happy about it. "What are you doing here?"

"It's my fault you're here. I had to come—"

Collum Ahern rose to his feet, and made his way to where she stood with surprising speed, though she could tell that he was still reeling from his knock on the head. "No. This isn't your fault. You didn't kidnap us and lock us in here. You are not the one who should trying to make things right," he said, gripping her shoulders tightly. The look he gave his captors could only be described as incendiary.

"Well, they're going to let you go. They got what they wanted…me," she said.

"Not exactly. You see, we're going to hang on to one of them, just for safekeeping. You understand. You have to hedge your bets," June's voice said from behind her. Moira turned to face her, livid.

"I thought that as a good, God-fearing woman, you wouldn't believe in gambling," she spat.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures."

"You said you would let them go. I'm not going to fight you. I don't have the luxury of a cause. They're all I've got, and I can't do anything that would cause their destruction. Let them go," Moira said, her voice trembling with barely controlled rage.

"I told you, I'm only going to keep one of them. I'll even let you choose. And, of course, you get your moment for touching goodbyes," June informed her, unable to keep her satisfaction out of her voice.

"Tara and Mom. They go free." Moira looked at her father, and saw understanding in his eyes. He was physically the strongest, and could help her the most in her situation. He nodded his approval. "Now, I believe we get our moment?"

They left them alone in the room, though there was still a guard stationed outside, she was sure, with his ear pressed to the door. Moira slipped her arms around her mother and sister, and held them close for a long time. Though she hoped that it wasn't going to be the last time she saw them, she wasn't taking chances.

"Mom, I didn't have a chance to clean up the house, but I should tell you that um…Da's shed is okay. Don't worry about anything you find in the shed. And Tara, you can have my Berretta. It's in my bedside table drawer—"

"Don't do that. Don't act like this is the last time I'm going to see you. It's not," Tara said, cutting off her sister. "Why are we here?"

"I kept this group from destroying a Fangtasia—that vampire bar downtown—early yesterday morning. They must have found out who I was and decided to take it out on you," Moira explained.

"Why were you even there?" Tara asked, the disgust obvious in her voice, but completely absent from her expression. Moira smiled, understanding exactly what her sister was doing.

"I met the vampire who owns the place, Eric, in Dallas. We…hit it off, so to speak, and he took me to Fangtasia."

"And you agreed to go to _vampire bar_! You know how dangerous that is. They'll tear you apart!" Tara raised her voice, making sure to sell their little act. There wasn't much else that Moira could tell her without giving away the game, but she was pretty sure that they understood what she was telling them. Tara squeezed her hand, nodded, and stood. _We're coming back with the big guns, _her expression seemed to say. Moira smiled and kissed her forehead.

"They have Da's gun, but there's a shotgun in the trunk if you need it," she whispered in her ear. Tara grinned, and nodded. "This is not an action movie where the heroine doesn't get hurt. You get the hell out of here, and _stay away. _ Let Eric handle the rest." The grin immediately faded from Tara's face.

"I love you, you know that," Moira said, raising her voice and addressing her whole family. Tears welled in her eyes at the thought of leaving them, but it was what had to be done. Her family had to survive, no matter the costs. "You've got to go on living…don't be sad. Celebrate my life."

She kissed her mother and sister one last time, and then banged on the door. A guard opened the door, and June was waiting to escort them out. Before they left, Moira grabbed June's arm. "You swear to me that they're going to get to go free. All three of them. You've got what you want."

"They can go now, and when we're done, he can too," June answered.

"I want proof—"

"You're not in a situation to be demanding right now, missy."

"I'm giving you my _life_, and I get the distinct impression—" She stopped and lowered her voice so that only June could hear. The volume may have been lowered, but the intensity was not. "—that it is not going to end well, so you _will _give me what I want. It's the least you can do."

The tears that she had been holding back spilled over, and streamed down her cheeks, as the full weight of what she was doing hit home. No, she didn't want to die, and she knew damn well that her sister and mother had gotten the hint, but if she had learned anything in this life, it was that there are no guarantees. Eric wasn't exactly the white knight type, and she couldn't be sure that he would help, though she hoped that he would. He had dragged her across state lines because of her connection with Godric, and she was hoping that now he would go to the same extremes.

Godric. His face flashed through her mind, and she couldn't push it away, try as she might. She didn't want to think about him, about the things that they might never do. She didn't want to think about leaving him, about him waking up in the cold, hard ground and finding that she was dead and gone. But it was her _family_. They were her flesh and blood, and she couldn't just leave them there. He would understand, he was a good man.

"How are we supposed to give you proof that they've been released?"

"You have a cell phone. In forty-five minutes, I'm going to use it to call my home, and if my mother or sister doesn't answer, you can guaran-damn-tee that your job just got a hell of a lot harder," Moira answered, her voice hard.

"I think that can be arranged. Your sister has the right idea. Vampires are dangerous. Demons. Forces for evil, and you've associated with them. You took sides with them against us, and for that, you must be punished." June's voice softened, almost as if she were a parent that did not want to punish their child. The problem with June was that she was a true believer. She honestly believed everything that was coming out of her mouth, and that made her fanatical about it.

Moira nodded and her mother and sister were escorted away. As soon as they were out of sight, her hands and feet were roughly bound behind her, and then tied together, arching her back painfully. They pushed her to the floor, and luckily, her father caught her. If he hadn't she would have crashed, face-first into the hard tile floor. A guard stepped into the room and bound Collum's hands and feet as well, though not in the uncomfortable position that Moira's were. She was focused on her father, trying not to think about the terrible things that were about to happen to her, but it wasn't helping. He wouldn't look at her, but instead, was staring at the door with an intensity that she had never seen before in his eyes.

"Da." She called him, but he didn't look at her. "Da." Again, he didn't look at her, though she knew that he heard her. She could tell because he clenched his jaw and blinked several times, but he wouldn't look at her. So, she tried again. "Da…Come on, Da, look at me."

Her voice wavered with her final plea, and he finally complied. There was so much in his expression, so much anger and despair, that it was painful to hold his gaze. But she had to. She had to talk to him, to make him understand that this was the way things had to be.

"It has to be this way, and you know it," she whispered. "Think about it logically. It's three to one. You have to save the three."

"You're my daughter. I shouldn't have to sit here and watch you be hurt. I should be defending you."

"No. Right now, you have to think about Mom and Tara. You have to take care of them. I'll be fine."

"Really? Is that vampire friend going to help you out? Because it's daylight right now."

"I know. But Tara's smart. She's going to call in the cavalry, and it's going to be fine," Moira said, her voice soothing. She wasn't sure who needed comforting the most, her or her father. Perhaps if she told herself it was going to be alright enough times, it would really come true. "But if…if something happens to me—"

"Don't say that."

"—you should know that there's a vampire under your shed. His name is…Godric." She struggled to force his name across her lips. She had an irrational fear that just by saying his name she was going to awaken him, alert him to what was going on, and that was the last thing she wanted. She _needed _to believe that he was safe, and going to stay as far away from there as possible. Her father was staring at her, understanding in his eyes.

"And is he good to you?"

"Yes. Very."

"That's all I need to know," he said, smiling sadly. Silence fell between them, only to be broken as Moira started singing softly, almost absentmindedly.

"When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me. Speaking words of wisdom...let it be..."

"I was thinking about maybe someone a little more...prone to action than Mother Mary."

Moira smiled wickedly, thinking of just how capable Eric was of taking someone apart. "Me, too."

There conversation was cut short, when the door was pushed open, and June kicked Moira swiftly in the side. She gasped in pain and realized that the other woman must be wearing steel-toed boots. _Hold on, _she told her self. _Cavalry's coming. Just hold on…

* * *

_

Godric awoke minutes after sunset, and pulled himself from the ground. Dirt covered his clothes, but it would be easy enough to clean up, especially considering all the cleaning supplies Moira was sure to have gathered. But as he pushed open the back door, he knew that something wasn't right. There were no lights on, and now the house reeked of stale blood. It had been relatively fresh when he and Moira had found it that morning, but now it had sat there all day and had begun to break down. Why hadn't she gotten it clean up?

He went through each room, looking for any sign that she had even attempted a clean up. The cleaning supplies were still sitting under the cabinet in the bathroom, a thin layer of undisturbed dust on them. The same thing with the kitchen. None of the objects that had been knocked over had been righted, none of the broken glass picked up. The vacuum cleaner and the broom looked as untouched as the cleaning supplies. She had done absolutely nothing to clean up, and more telling, she wasn't there.

She hadn't wanted to part with him, and now she wasn't there when she knew that he would wake? Something about it didn't sit well with him. Her note did little to settle his worries. _The police had a few more questions for me. I should be back shortly, don't worry. Love, Moira. _ If she was supposed to be back shortly, where was she? Surely the police weren't still talking to her at night. And if her departure was recent, why was the house still a mess?

"Moira, where did you go?" he whispered, hoping that any minute she was going to come through the door—smiling and perfectly fine—and dispel all the bad thoughts that were running through his mind. But he already knew that wasn't going to happen. She wasn't there.

There were new footprints on the floor, some that hadn't been there the last time he was in the house. Someone had been here after he had gone to ground. But he didn't see any new damage to the house, or any fresh signs of struggle. He couldn't smell Moira's blood, and he was sure that he would have sensed her distress. Who had been there? Had Moira gone with them willingly?

With no other option, he grabbed the note off the table, took some car keys off the rack in the kitchen, and made a beeline for the one place he could think to go: Fangtasia. If something had happened to Moira, Eric and Pam had a better chance of knowing about it than he did. It was a shame that he had lost his cell phone in the events of the previous evening, because it would have come in very handy. Very handy, indeed.

When he entered Fangtasia, he knew for certain that his suspicions were confirmed. Something was going on with Moira. Her mother and sister were standing next to Eric and Pam, their expressions worried and grim. Tara's arm—obviously broken—was in a makeshift sling, though it was obvious that it hadn't been set yet. Her mother was still bruised and bloody, and apparently furious.

"She saved your ungrateful arse, and you're going to sit here and let them do that to her?"

"You said it was—"

"The Fellowship of the Sun. We already told you this," Tara yelled, her face an inch from Eric's. "Now stop spinning your wheels and do something to help her!"

Godric was across the room in an instant. "The Fellowship of the Sun? Has Moira?" he asked.

Tara turned to face him. It was obvious that she had no idea who he was, though it seemed that she did know Eric. This didn't stop her from telling him what he wanted to know. "Yes. She came in this morning, just after we'd been taken, and offered herself in exchange for our freedom. They kept Da, just…to make sure she holds up her end of the bargain."

Dread filled Godric. "Which was…?"

"Death. They're going to kill her."

Icy resolve filled him. He respected human life. Humans were an important part of this world, and they should be treated as equal. But these people were trying to take something more precious to him than anything else, and he couldn't let it happen. The idea of Moira tucked away in a basement room sickened him. He remembered Sookie Stackhouse's near rape, and if he had been human, he would have gotten sick. He looked to Eric, who looked equally grim.

"There could potentially be a high number of human casualties," Eric said, rising from his chair. Pam looked particularly excited at the prospect.

"Who the fuck cares! They're going to kill her. She saved your lives! Are you really going to sit here and let her die?" Tara exploded. Godric shook his head.

"No, we're not. You can lead us there?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Then let's go."

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks so, so much for all the feedback. Y'all are wonderful, and I'm glad you're enjoying the story. Hopefully this chapter didn't disappoint. Please review!! =)


	9. Sacrifice

Tara had the car cranked and in gear before anyone told her that she couldn't drive. Godric forced her from the driver's seat, though, arguing that he could drive faster than either of them, and didn't run the risk of getting them killed. Tara slid into the passenger seat, and put her seatbelt on. She was so focused on their mission that she didn't even wince when the seatbelt got caught in her sling and jerked on her arm. Instead, she clenched her jaw shut tightly and kept quiet.

"You will give me directions?" Godric asked.

"No shit."

The drive was fast. Scary fast. Godric's superhuman resources let him speed and fit into spaces that no human driver ever could. Tara delivered the directions calmly, as if her sister's life wasn't at stake. An icy calm overtook her—it was like watching Moira when she had handled the protesters outside Fangtasia. The thought that he might not ever see her alive again…that he wouldn't see those expressions or hear her speak or tell her that he loved her. He pushed those thoughts from his mind, determined not to consider them. If she were dead, he would know. But then, he thought he would know that she was in danger, too, but somehow she hid it from him.

When they neared the church, Godric took care to drive like a human. If he pulled into the parking lot going sixty miles an hour, someone was going to notice that something was wrong, and things would only get worse for all of them. He pulled into a parking space behind the church, at the edge of the parking lot. He heard Bridget sigh in relief as Eric and Pam did the same thing and didn't make a scene. Things got considerably more complicated when Tara pulled off her seatbelt and got out of the car. She was opening the back of the car and pulling out a shot gun before Godric stopped her. Bridget shortly followed.

"What are you doing?" he asked quietly.

"I'm going to get my sister back," she answered, her voice calm.

He knew that Moira hadn't wanted her mother and sister involved in what was going to happen in that church. He also knew that she didn't want him involved, but that was one wish he was going to ignore. There was a chance that he could get in there and save her life, and that meant that her wishes concerning him were thrown out the window. But he couldn't let Tara and her mother—Bridget, she'd said her name was—get involved. Not when he knew that Moira didn't want them there. And if she was dead—God forbid—it was the least he could do for her, considering that it was his fault she was in this position in the first place.

"No. You have to stay here," he told them.

"We're not leaving her here," Tara snapped.

"She sacrificed herself so that you wouldn't get hurt. You need to stay here. Don't make her sacrifice—"

"Don't use that word! Sacrifice. She's going to be fine. Now stop arguing with us and get in there," Tara growled at him. Twenty yards away, Eric suppressed a laugh. She for such a tiny human, she had spirit. Apparently, she heard his snort, and turned on him, anger on her face. "You, too. Quit standing there looking smug and go do something." Having said her piece, she sat back down in the car and slammed the door. Bridget followed suit.

"Do we have a plan?" Pam asked quietly.

"Take the back entrance, find Moira and her father, and get out as quickly as possible without any bloodshed," Godric said.

"No bloodshed?" Eric couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. "They would kill her. They may have already killed her—"

"Unless there is no other option, do not spill blood. Get her out," Godric ordered. Eric nodded and they headed for the back entrance. Just as they pulled the door open, a flash of recognition tore through Godric and he froze. She was in pain. All-consuming, overwhelming pain. He focused on her, trying to pin down her position.

"Follow me," he whispered. They moved as quickly and quietly as they possibly could—which meant they were practically invisible—through the building. The deeper they went into the belly of the beast, the more people they began to run into. It was easy enough to glamour them to sleep when there was only one or two of them, but soon they were in groups of five and six. It took time to glamour someone, and eventually one of the humans managed to trigger an alarm. A loud, blaring buzzer filled the building, alerting everyone to their presence. To make things worse, everything looked the same, and it was hard to find the room where Moira was being held.

"So much for a quiet entrance," Eric said under his breath.

Pam grinned. "This way's more fun, anyway."

Godric silenced them both with a raised hand. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard a yell. He heard it again, and was sure. It was only two words—"Please stop"—but they revealed multitudes. It was a man's voice and from the words, the message, and pain in his tone, they knew that it was her father. It was a father begging for his daughter's life because she was too weak—or too strong, in Moira's case—to do it herself. The faint smell of blood pervaded the air, and they followed it to where a man was standing outside a door.

"Stop hurting her! Stop, damn you!"

"Da…it's alright." Moira's voice was faint.

There were six humans standing outside the door, all armed to the teeth with silver, stakes, and crossbows. Godric hadn't planned on a spilling their blood. Much of their problems had arisen because they didn't get along well with humans. But the smell of Moira's blood, and the sound of her pain sent anger tearing through him. She had done nothing to them but try to keep the peace, and they were punishing her for it. Before anyone was the wiser, two of the humans were unconscious. Eric and Pam quickly stepped in to help, and they came out of it with nothing more than a few annoying silver burns. Godric only hoped he could say the same for Moira.

The door was locked, but he pushed it open as if it were nothing. The smell of blood was overwhelming, and he knew immediately that all of it was Moira's. She was hanging from a pipe in the ceiling, suspended by her hands and feet, which had all been bound together. It was obvious that she had taken quite the beating—her face was bruised and bloody. He couldn't assess much more damage, though, because she had been wrapped from neck to foot in silver chains. He knew from the puddles of blood on the floor, though, that she must have at least one serious wound somewhere.

Moira's father was sitting in the corner, also bound in silver chains. It didn't make sense at first. They were human, silver couldn't hurt a human. But then realization struck him: they weren't trying to hurt Moira and her father—not with the chains, anyway—they were trying to keep vampires from helping them. That's what it was about. They thought that they had wounded Moira badly enough that she would die if left to alone long enough.

"Moira," Godric said, rushing to her side. His fangs were out, and he quickly brought his wrist to his mouth, ready to tear open his arm for her.

"Don't. It would take…too much blood, and…you need your st-strength right now," Moira whispered. One of her eyes was swollen shut, but the other was open and glazed over with pain.

"How bad is it?" he asked urgently.

"It just hurts…it's not bad—"

"It's bad. Just before she left, she made two cuts on her leg, that's where most of the blood is coming from," Collum said from where he sat in the corner. "And the chains are silver. If you touch these things it's going to—"

The sound of a shotgun blast silenced him for a minute. There were screams as the shots got closer. Tara appeared in the doorway, shotgun in hand, her teeth gritted in pain. She had pulled her arm out of the sling, and was miraculously still using it. Upon seeing her sister, she shoved the gun into Eric's hands and rushed to her. "You're going to leave her hanging there?" she asked, staring at Eric in disdain. "Some rescuer you are."

"Silver chains…" Moira's voice was growing fainter with each passing second.

"Not a problem." Tara pulled hard on the chains, lowering her sister to the floor. It wasn't as gentle as anyone would have liked, but it worked, and that was what mattered. Tara and Godric quickly worked to get the chains unwrapped, ignoring the smell of Moira's blood and Godric's burnt flesh. As soon as she was free, Godric lifted her made his way back out to the car. The rest of the crew followed shortly behind with Collum.

Godric was positive that they had slit her femoral artery. It was amazing to him that she was still awake, though pain was sometimes funny that way. You either passed out and mercifully missed it all, or you couldn't pass out and had to experience every last minute of it. Moira, it seemed, was damned unlucky to still be awake…or very lucky to still be alive.

"Eric, you'll Moira and I back to Fangtasia. Pam, take the others somewhere safe. Not home," he ordered. Eric nodded and cranked the car.

"No. I'm not leaving my daughter like this," Collum growled protectively.

"Listen, to save her life, I'm going to have to do some things—"

"I don't care. I just need to know that she's safe—"

"The longer that you argue over travel arrangements—"

"Stop it, both of you. I'll go with them. We can all meet back at Fangtasia and decide where to go from there. And no arguing," Tara said, stepping in. Her tone of voice and the look in her eye didn't leave room for argument, especially not after the seriousness of Godric's words. Collum and Bridget climbed into the car with Pam without muttering another word. Tara climbed in the front seat next to Eric, still carrying the shotgun.

"Moira?"

"Yeah?"

"You need to drink," he whispered, opening his wrist. It was amazing that despite the blood on his face, Godric still looked amazingly innocent. But that ever-present sense of calm that seemed to be as natural to him as existing was gone. He wasn't panicking, but he wasn't happy, either. She was still bleeding, and she was still in pain—something that was unacceptable to him. He had told her family that he could save her, and so he would.

She latched on to his wrist and drank. The smell of the blood had almost made her sick the first time she drank, and it was the same this time. The metallic taste in her mouth was disgusting, and all she could think about was the way that Sean's apartment had smelled when she found him…But thoughts of Sean were pushed away as she felt Godric's strong fingers running through her hair, soothing her. The pain was still present—bright white and burning hot—but she drank through it. She wanted to live, if only to thumb her nose at those bastards who thought it would be fun to slice her open.

Her hands tightened on his wrist as she continued to drink, and Godric noticed for the first time that she was missing her fingernails. The flesh was red and swollen and irritated. They had pulled her nails off. They didn't just want to kill her, they wanted to hurt her. They wanted her to feel her life slip away. That was why they had slit an artery and hung her like that.

He felt his strength draining away as she took his blood, but he didn't pull away from her. Instead, he pulled her closer to him. He wrapped one arm protectively around her while she drank from the other. Blood was smeared all over the two of them, but it didn't matter. She felt safe, and she didn't feel alone. It was like the two parts of a whole fitting together perfectly. They were opposites in almost every way: male and female, hard and soft, old and young…but they were complementary.

A wave of emotion swept over him when she finally pulled away. He slumped against the seat and held her close, kissing the top of her head. She was mercifully unconscious, finally unable to feel the pain that she was in. He knew this, but it didn't stop him from stroking her hair. It was more of a comfort to him—just touching her because he knew that he could—than it was to her.

"Is she going to be okay?" Tara asked hesitantly. For the first time since he had met her, she looked all of her sixteen years, and not a day older. He noticed she held a white-knuckle grip on the shotgun, and even that wasn't enough to stop her hands from shaking. She was just as terrified of losing Moira as he had been. But it was going to be fine. Moira would wake up alright, and then they would handle the Fellowship of the Sun.

"Yes," he answered. All the tenderness and love he felt for Moira were obvious in his voice and his expression. "Yes, she will be fine."

* * *

**A/N: **So, thank you so much for all the feedback on this story. Y'all are quite lovely. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'll try to update ASAP, though it is getting to that time in the school year where things get crazy. But I will try, I promise. Please review! =)


	10. Bonds

Moira was still unconscious when they reached Fangtasia. Godric wasn't horribly worried because he could see that she was healing. Her fingernails—which had been completely torn away—were beginning to grow back. But Tara couldn't see the healing. All she saw was her sister—still unconscious and still very bloody—limp in his arms, too pale and too still.

"Why isn't she awake?" Tara demanded. "You said she would be alright."

"She will be," Godric answered, his voice calm. "When you go to sleep at night, your body heals itself from the day's exertions. That's what she's doing right now. Her mind has temporarily shutting down so that her body can better heal itself."

"So how long is she gonna be out?"

"I don't know. We will have to see."

Eric interrupted their conversation with his short, clipped words. "We'll take her in the back door. There are still too many people to take her in the front door. We don't want to call too much attention to ourselves."

"Yes, and we'd hate scare away the tourists," Tara said, her voice bitingly sarcastic. Eric smiled in amusement, though the smile didn't reach his eyes.

Pam's car pulled up beside them, and Bridget and Collum were out of the car almost before it stopped. They pulled open the back door, and were horrified to find blood staining everything—not realizing that all of it wasn't Moira's. They froze—unsure of what to do, especially once they saw the blood smeared on Godric's face.

"What did you do?" Bridget demanded.

"I had to give her my blood—"

"You made her a vampire?"

"No, I only gave her enough to heal her body. Not to change her," Godric said calmly. Relief was written all over Bridget's face, though Collum's concerned expression hadn't changed.

"Moira?" Collum whispered, tenderly running his fingers through her blood-matted hair.

"She'll be fine. She's healing. We'll get her inside, and she'll wake up when she's ready." Godric paused, and looked to Collum, who still had worry written all over his face. He was looking at his little girl, bruised and battered—any father's nightmare. Trying to comfort him, Godric asked, "Would you like to…carry her?"

Noting the tenderness in Godric's eyes, Collum smiled slightly and shook his head. "Let's just get her inside. We'll go from there."

Eric led them through the back door to the office, where they settled in. Godric sat on the sofa, Moira cradled on his lap. Bridget and Collum stood beside them, unable to keep their eyes off their daughter. Tara stood over Eric—who had seated himself in a chair behind his desk—breathing down his neck. Pam leaned against the door with a detached expression.

"So, do we go to the police?" Tara asked, looking around the room, hoping to find an answer.

"Of course we do," Collum said immediately, reaching for the phone on Eric's desk. In a blur of movement, Eric clamped his hand over Collum's wrist, stopping him from picking up the phone.

"We should have blown them away while we were in there," Tara growled. "The police are only going to fuck it all up."

"That's why we go back and finish it," Eric said with a twisted grin.

"No. That's what they want. If we attack them, it gives them an excuse to attack us back. It just gives their claims more ground," Godric cut in.

"Then what do we do?" Bridget asked, frustrated.

"Nothing. We do nothing."

Moira's voice was weak, but no less authoritative for being so. An oppressive silence fell over the room, no one daring to break it. Until Tara spoke up.

"Nothing?" Her voice was full of disbelief.

"We can't go to the police—"

"Why the hell not?"

"Tara, think about it. If we go to the police, they're going to want to know how it is that I've been miraculously healed. If we tell them the truth, vampire blood is going to be in high demand. Crimes against vampires will rise, and guess who is going to be blamed for it?" Moira said.

"We're not the ones causing the root of the problem—"

"It wouldn't matter. What matters is that we would be the ones revealing what vampire blood can do, and that's the same as painting a bright red target on our foreheads…or throats, as it were." She smiled weakly at her own joke before getting serious again. "If we take our own private revenge on the Fellowship of the Sun, it gives them more reason to hate vampires and people who…associate with them. They may not be able to go to the police, but word travels fast in certain circles, and we're targets again. Either way, we're targets. So we do nothing."

Tara stood stock-still, her fists gripping the back of Eric's chair in a white-knuckled grip. Her jaw was clenched tightly shut, locking any arguments away, because they were futile. Unfortunately for them all, Moira was right. They didn't have any options that didn't ultimately just make the situation worse for them.

"So…what about my arm? What do we tell the people at the hospital when they ask what happened?" Tara asked, turning her mind to more practical matters. Before Moira could answer, Eric did.

"What actually happened to it?"

"They threw me down the stairs when I wouldn't stop fighting them. I tried to catch myself, and…broken arm."

"Then that's what you tell them in the emergency room. You fell down the stairs and broke your arm," Eric said, as if talking to a child.

"And when they ask about why Mom and Da are bruised and battered?"

Eric looked to Pam, who was leaning against the door. Though the language was unfamiliar, the tone he used with her was not. He was giving orders, orders that she seemed none too happy about. Despite her displeasure, she quickly left the room, leaving the others in silent confusion. She returned a few moments later and set a small, silver briefcase on Eric's desk. He flicked it open and held up two small vials filled with a red liquid.

"This is vampire blood. It will heal you without forming a blood bond with the vampire it came from," he said, holding out the vials.

"I've heard of some of the side effects of vampire blood," Bridget started.

"You're injured, which should keep you from getting high off it, and if you do, we're all strong enough to keep you in check," Eric answered, cold and calculating. Realizing that they had no other options, they took the vials and quickly downed the blood.

"You said that when you drink from a vampire, people will form a bond with the vampire. Are you two…bonded?" Collum asked.

"Yes," Godric responded, pulling Moira closer, almost instinctively.

"What does that mean, exactly?"

"I'll know if she's in danger—"

"Did you know this time?" Bridget cut in.

"No, I did not. I don't know how she kept it from me."

"I was calm. I didn't panic, so you didn't feel it," Moira said, thought it was obvious that she was leaving something out. It was also very clear that Godric wasn't going to let that go undiscussed.

"How long does it last? Will it always be like that?" Tara demanded, though her expression was softer than before.

"Bonds can be broken, but...it takes a lot. But I will never force Moira to do something that—"

"Oh, I know. I just want to make sure you know what you're getting into. Because sometimes, Moira can be a weirdo. She yells at frogs in her sleep," Tara answered with a smile. Godric and Moira both smiled as well, though that was quickly wiped away when she yawned.

"I'm tired. Is there somewhere I can take a nap?" she asked quietly. Godric nodded and gently picked her up. They quickly said goodnight to her parents and made their way to a windowless room in the back. There was a bed in the middle of the room, and a dresser pushed against the wall, and that was it. There were no mirrors, no mess of any kind. Everything was as it should be.

Godric pulled back the sheets and laid her on the bed. "Would you like something else to wear?" he asked. She nodded. He pulled open the bottom drawer of the dresser and pulled out a grey sweater and drawstring pants, which he handed to her before respectfully turning his back while she changed.

"You…you don't have to do that," she whispered, though her voice sounded like a shout in her ears.

"I respect you, and so I have to." She smiled as he said that, knowing that it was true, and also knowing that she would be hard pressed to find someone who shared that idea. He was gentle and patient and loving, something that she never thought she would have again. He was a second chance at happiness, something she had never thought she would have. When she finished dressing, she crawled under the covers, and he followed.

"We have to have a discussion," he said seriously. "I didn't know you were in trouble. Why not?"

"I told you, I didn't panic."

"You stayed calm, even when you decided to give your life for your family's? Even when they were cutting into you and pulling out your fingernails?"

"Yes," she whispered, touching his face. She kissed him softly, but instead of deepening the kiss, he pulled away.

"You're trying to distract me. Why?"

"It's over, and we all survived. Isn't that enough?" she asked, trying to keep the edge of desperation out of her voice. She failed.

"No. I want to know why you lied to me. Why did you tell me that you went to the police station when you went to _sacrifice yourself_? Why did you take such care to stay calm while you were being tortured to death?"

She had never heard him angry before, until now, and she didn't like it. She knew that he would never hurt her, but she didn't like the idea that he was angry at her. It wasn't that she had tried to save her family. He wasn't angry that she had endangered herself—though he wasn't particularly happy about that. He was upset because she hadn't trusted him enough to bring him with her. She had left him behind, and as a result, had almost gotten herself killed.

"I didn't want you to come," she finally answered in a small voice. He was silent for a long time.

"Why not?" All the hurt he felt was clear in his voice, and she seemed just as hurt to hear it.

"Because they could have killed you! You would come charging in there trying to save me, and gotten yourself killed in the process. I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't be responsible for you dying. I couldn't lose you!"

"So you were just going to let them kill you?"

"I didn't plan on letting them kill me. But they didn't play by the rules. I was planning on fighting back the minute that my family was out of there, but they kept my father there so that they had leverage. I couldn't let them hurt him, so I didn't really have a choice. But I didn't leave here hoping to die. When I thought that I would…I knew that I couldn't let you try to save me and get yourself killed in the process. I already lost one person I loved…I can't do it again," she whispered, her voice full of emotion.

He saw love in her eyes, and couldn't resist a kiss. Pressing his lips to hers, he tried to tell her that he felt it, too. He tried to tell her "I love you, too," but a simple kiss just didn't seem to do it. The kiss deepened, thought neither one of them knew exactly how it happened or which one was responsible. But it didn't matter.

Finally, she pulled away. "You always seem to…leave me…catching my breath," she whispered. She toyed with the buttons at his shirtfront, unbuttoning them to expose hard, bare chest.

"The best kisses are like that."

"Well, we're doing pretty good, then." She pressed a kiss to the hollow of his throat, and felt his muscles tense beneath her lips. Gently, the cupped her face, forcing her to meet his gaze.

His face was serious, despite her attempts to lighten the mood. "You know that I'm not going anywhere. I'm nearly invincible. No one's going to take me away from you."

"You promise?"

"Absolutely."

She smiled and kissed him again, just as passionately. Pulling away, again breathless, she rested her head on his chest and sighed contentedly.

"So, are you telling me that you love me?" He smiled. It was a beautiful smile, a smile with the anticipation of many more.

"Absolutely."

* * *

**A/N: **I am so sorry for the delay. Again, school caught up [it's the end of the semester crunch]. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, and please review! Oh, yes, and thank you so so much for all the support and feedback. Y'all are amazing. =)


	11. Why I'm Doing This

_**A/N:** _I apologize immensely for the delay. Holidays and computer crashes caught up with me. I hope that y'all had a great Christmas. Thank you so much for the feedback and support. It's wonderful and greatly appreciate it. Keep it up! Now, here's another chapter, and I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

_"It just doesn't seem right," Moira whispered as they lay in bed. Her head was resting on his stone cold chest, his fingers running comfortingly through her hair. "I know that is the best way to keep them safe, and that's what's important, but…It just doesn't feel right. They almost killed us, and I'm letting them off the hook. The public needs to know what they did, but…it's a damned if you do, damned if you don't situation."_

_"I know. But you're right to keep your family safe. After everything else is gone, you'll have your family—"_

_"And you."_

_"And me," he amended. "It's important to protect the people you love. No one can fault you for that," he said, trying to comfort her. He could already begin to see the direction that her thoughts were taking, and he knew that it was only going to bring her more danger. _

_"The Fellowship of the Sun did."_

_"That's because I'm not a person."_

_"Bite your tongue!" she scolded. "You are a person just as much as I am. You have great compassion for humanity, you're capable of love…you're more human than most of us, so don't you ever say that you're not a person. You are." She kissed him fiercely, as if to punctuate her point. He pulled away and smiled at her._

_"Why don't you tell me what's going on in that mind of yours," he suggested. He didn't even have to turn on his "bedroom eyes," as Tara would have called them. His grin was enough to make her spill everything._

_"Vampires are organized. You have areas and sheriffs, a magistrate, and kings and queens. The opposition is organized—the Fellowship of the Sun. But there's nothing for those of us who are in favor of vampire rights, who want equality. We're not vampires, but we're not entirely part of normal human society, either. There needs to be a group for us," she explained._

_"And you want to start it."_

_"Someone has to. I know there are other people out there like me. There are people who are willing to fight for what is right. If I start this thing, others will join. It wouldn't be that difficult."_

_"Wouldn't be that difficult?" His voice was disbelieving, though not because he didn't believe in her—he knew she could do it. She just didn't realize how difficult it was going to be. "You're going to be branded a fangbanger—"_

_"I already have been."_

_"—and you'll be a target—"_

_"Like I am already."_

_"—people will send you death threats—"_

_"I've already nearly died. Death isn't really scary anymore."_

_"Well it should be!" he exclaimed. "Death, for you, is forever. It's permanent, there's no coming back from it."_

_"Godric…I understand that you're afraid for me. But the thing is, if I—we let people stop us because we're afraid of the consequences, they beat us. We can't let them win. Think of how many people this could help. To know that there are others out there, to have people to talk to that aren't going to judge you…and we would have the legal power of being an established organization. It's one thing to go after a single person, but it's hard to go after a group. Power and safety in numbers."_

_"There's the AVL—"_

_"The AVL is primarily for vampires, and doesn't really offer personal support. This would be a group for vampires, friends of vampires, families of newly turned vampires, families who can't understand their children's decision to be with a vampire—"_

_"You've been thinking about this for a while, haven't you?" Godric asked, a smile on his face. She smiled. _

_"Since I had to tell Mom and Da that they couldn't do anything to the people who had hurt their children. It's unfair that they're having to deal with this sort of thing without any support," she said._

_"And you're determined to do this." It wasn't a question. He knew the answer before the question was out of his mouth. She nodded. "Then we'll do it together."_

Moira was pulled from her reverie as the elevator doors opened. She stepped out of the elevator of her office and saw Godric standing just outside the building, waiting for her. There had been too many instances of vampire-directed hate crime in the area, and he feared for her safety more than she did. In the past months, she hadn't exactly been secretive about her relationship with him, and it made her more of a target than she would have been before, and that was before she had gotten what they now jokingly called _The Idea. _

_The Idea _had taken off. In the first week, they had fifty members. In the second, they had one hundred and fifty, and an office space. Within the first month, they had gotten another office space on the other side of Shreveport, and Moira was constantly going back and forth between the two. She was working constantly, trying to juggle her job with the local newspaper with the organization—called Familes and Friends of Vampires, or FAFV. FAFV was growing by leaps and bounds, getting tons of press, and Moira was ecstatic about it.

She was overworked and endangering herself by being such a public figure associated with FAFV, and she seemed to be the only one that didn't care. Her parents worried for her constantly, as did Tara, who would have spent her every waking moment outside of school at FAFV to take some of the workload if Moira would allow her to do so. Godric spent his every waking moment at her side, though she said that she didn't need protection. Of course, he knew this was untrue, which was why he continued to escort her to and from FAFV-related meetings.

Moira knew about the danger to herself, and to her family because of who she was. The day after they had gotten her away from the Fellowship, she started looking for apartments. She had found one and was moved in a week later. She had convinced her parents to install a security system and bought Tara a Glock 40—despite the fact that she was too young to carry one. She took precautions for herself, but her family's safety was her top priority.

"How was your meeting?" he asked, though he could tell from her expression that it had gone just fine.

"AVL is going to endorse us, and if we get big enough, they have agreed to share neighboring spaces with us. Nan Flanagan has also agreed to speak at our rally in two weeks. I was lucky to get her since it was such short notice. She can be a bitch, but having her there will be great for publicity," she said, a grin on her face as they got into her car. He had been expecting a brilliant smile, and was surprised to find she was only grinning. This was a major victory for them.

"Even with the high crime rate against vampires in the area?" He was slightly surprised. Nan Flanagan was a good spokesperson, but she was incredibly selfish. He had expected her to look at the recent spike in crime and refuse. But then, Moira knew when to be frank and when to be subtle. No, he wasn't surprised after all.

"Especially because of the high crime rate. With the violence, we need to be more active here. Early this morning, Sarah Glover was found beaten and left for dead because of her romantic involvement with a vampire. They painted a bright red "V" across her chest. She was only nineteen years old, Godric. These sorts of things have been happening all across the country. It's time that we stepped up and make a statement about it," she told him, her expression full of determination. "I'm going to speak with her and her family at the hospital, and then I have a press conference to make a statement about it."

That explained her lack of smile. "A press conference?"

"Godric, I can't go any longer without speaking up. If I had brought more attention to the organization earlier, to our mission, maybe I could have prevented this."

"Of you could have been the one with a "V" painted on her chest. You can't blame yourself for the actions of others. Now, for the press conference…Where do you need me?"

She sighed in relief when he said that. The fact that he was supporting her—despite his worries for her safety—made life infinitely easier. She didn't have to worry about coming home to her apartment and being met with opposition. Instead, he let her know that he was afraid for her, but that he was doing everything he could to keep her safe.

"Mom, Da, and Tara won't stay home. I want you to stay with them and see that they get home safely afterwards. I got the police commissioner to agree to have a protective detail for the house until the end of the week because of what happened last time I was in the news. So, if you can just make sure they get home, and that there's no one in the house, that would be great," she said.

"What about you?"

"Eric agreed to take me home."

"Eric? How did you manage that? Why isn't he taking your family home?" Godric asked, completely confused.

"I think that Eric's and Tara's ideas about retribution are a little too similar. They're both still disappointed about not getting revenge last time," Moira explained with a grin. She pulled up in front of the hospital and began making her way towards Sarah Glover's room. There was a security officer standing outside the door, who briefly stopped them before recognizing Moira. She had met with him just last week about membership.

Sarah Glover's face was bruised and bandaged, but still recognizable. Moira knew immediately that she was going to have to have some kind of plastic surgery to repair the damage to her nose. Her hands were bandaged, and her leg was casted. There were hand-shaped bruises on her throat. She was awake and staring out the window as Moira and Godric entered. Her parents were sitting at her bedside.

"Miss Glover?" Moira asked. "I'm Moira Ahern—"

"I know who you are. You're from FAFV. Who's he?" the girl said. Her voice was rough and scratchy, but more curious than rude.

"I'm Godric. I'm Moira's boyfriend," he said quietly.

"What are you doing here?" the girl's father asked.

"I just wanted to come by and let all of you know that you'll be in my thoughts and prayers. I know this is a challenging time for you, and if you need anything at all, don't hesitate to call. I'll do what can," Moira said, handing her card to the man.

"How can you possibly understand?" the girl's mother asked.

"I had…some trouble when I kept an anti-vampire group from burning down Fangtasia. I think that we should be able to associate with whoever we want—within reason, obviously—without having to worry about…other people harming us. We have that right."

"I didn't," the girl said sadly, tears filling her eyes. Godric discreetly slipped out the room, leaving the two women alone. Moira sat beside Sarah, unable to do much else to comfort her.

"But you do. And we're trying to see to that. I'm trying to keep the people like you and me safe. And you're family, too. I'm going to do everything in my power to keep something like this from happening again. I promise," she said comfortingly.

"It's almost…is it worth fighting for?" Sarah asked, her tears spilling over.

"I love him…he…" She was unable to finish her sentence for the tears that were streaming down her cheeks. Her father stepped in and finished for her.

"Her boyfriend was…turned—is that the right word for it?" Moira nodded. "Just because he was a vampire didn't mean that he wasn't the same person that he was before. So they kept seeing each other. He's a good guy," her father said.

"I understand. You love him, and after he was changed, he was still the same person you fell in love with. There's nothing wrong with loving him, and love is always worth fighting for," Moira told her. Sarah nodded.

"Thank you. I'll…thank you," she whispered.

"Anytime. If you need anything, don't be afraid to call," Moira said as she rose to leave. Outside the room, a young man stood waiting. The boyfriend. He and Godric were deep in conversation when she walked out. They shook hands and the boy walked into the room. She heard warm and tearful greetings and couldn't help but smile.

"That's why I have to do this," she said, taking Godric's hand in hers. He kissed her gently on the forehead and smiled.

"I know. Now, let's go do this press conference."


	12. Press Conference Story Time

**A/N: **Thanks so much for all the feedback and support! It is lovely. Also, here is another chapter for your reading pleasure. I hope you enjoy it. Please review! Also, as this story comes to a close, I have an idea for another, involving some of the characters from this one (read: Tara, because for some reason, she seems to want a story of her own). If that's something you'd be interested in reading, let me know!

* * *

She was surprised at how many people—newscasters and laypersons alike—at the press conference, especially considering that it had been thrown together at the last minute. Then again, the issue was one that polarized people—there was rarely any middle ground on vampire rights—and that was incredibly obvious in the crowd that turned out. There were tons of people holding anti-vampire signs across the street, held back by barricades. Opposite them were vampire rights supporters holding signs and chanting equally loudly. It only got louder when Moira and Godric approached hand in hand.

"I'll go find your family. Break a leg, so to speak," he whispered in her ear. He gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead and ignored the rock that hit his back as he did so. He didn't flinch, hoping that she wouldn't notice, but she did. He saw her eyeing the thrower over his shoulder, but stopped her from speaking to him with a kiss.

She was grinning when she pulled away. "You always know how to stop me from doing something stupid. Now, you keep them safe, and I'll see you after."

"You stay safe. Remember, people are going to want you dead. If you see anything out of the ordinary, get out of there." His tone was more forceful than he had thought it would be. He hadn't felt this strongly about anything in quite some time—which is a really long time, considering that he had lived for two thousand years.

"Nothing's going to happen. I'll get up there, say my piece, and it'll be fine. Don't worry so much," she said with a smile.

"If you weren't so worried, you wouldn't have me protecting your family."

"That's because I'm not going to take any chances when it comes to my family. They're the ones who paid the price last time, and I'm not letting it happen again." She let her control slip, and he heard the concern in her voice for the first time.

"You paid a price, too. They sliced open your femoral artery. You're lucky that you didn't bleed to death before we got there—"

"No one is going to slit my femoral artery while I'm standing on stage behind a podium. Besides, it's a public event with lots of security that was put together at last minute. I doubt any of them have had time to put together anything organized enough to be a threat. It's going to be fine."

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, holding her tightly for a moment. He closed his eyes and breathed deep—not a natural action for him—taking in the feel and smell of her for the thousandth time. He was committing each and every part of her to memory, her mortal fragility always in the back of his mind. The urge to protect her was strong, but he knew that she was capable of protecting herself from other mortals, but he couldn't help but worry for her. She was strong and outspoken, and that was dangerous for her.

"It's going to be fine," she whispered. "I'll see you afterward." Then, with a peck on the cheek, she was walking away from him.

It hurt to watch her walk away. It didn't matter that he was going to see her later. It didn't matter that he was going to spend the night holding her in his arms. What mattered was that he was watching her walk away into a potentially dangerous situation, and he was going to sit on the sidelines and let her do it.

But he had to. As much as he wanted to protect her from all the terrible things in this world—and he had seen hundreds of atrocities in this world, had been the cause of many of them—he knew that he couldn't. Because as much as he wanted to protect her from the horrors of this world, that would also mean keeping her from some of the biggest joys. This speech, this organization was important to her, no matter how dangerous it was. He could let her have that.

Tara was sitting with her mother and father in the last row of chairs, trying to look inconspicuous and failing. They were perched nervously on the edge of their chairs, eyeing every entrance with suspicion. There wasn't a more tense bunch of people at the entire press conference, and that included everyone who was about to stand up and speak. Godric stood quietly behind Moira's family and kept his eyes open.

"When is Moira speaking?" Tara asked.

"I'm not sure. But afterwards, we're leaving and I'm getting you home safely," he answered. Tara grinned.

"Alright, Mr. Bodyguard. If anything goes wrong are you gonna rescue me?" she said teasingly. He didn't smile. He was too worried about Moira to smile.

"I'm going to take you home, and the police will take over from there."

"Did Moira give you those orders? Because she should know that we're capable of taking care of ourselves—"

"Shh, it's starting." He cut her off, drawing her attention to the police chief of Shreveport who had just stepped onstage. His expression was somber, and it was obvious to everyone that he didn't want to be there.

"I'm Chief Whitehorn with the Shreveport Police department. As I'm sure most of you have heard by now, a young woman was found severely beaten early this morning. She was rushed to an undisclosed hospital, where she received life-saving treatment. Her injuries are extensive, and for a short period of time, she was in the ICU. However, the doctors have assured me that she is out of danger, and that her condition is stable."

His voice was businesslike and neutral. However, the crowd response was not. Despite security measures, some of the protesters had slipped inside the building and were doing their best to make their opinions known. Several anti-vampire protesters were yelling loudly about judgment and her getting what she deserved. Upon hearing that she was stable and going to survive, and the vampire supporters breathed a sigh of relief, and several cheered.

"There have been many attacks similar to this one all across the country, so this is not the first crime of this nature to happen. It is, however, the first crime of this nature to happen in Shreveport. Because of the wide area of violence, we believe that this is the work of an organized group targeting people who have been seen associating with vampires. Though this is an organized group, a specific person or persons had to commit this crime, and we need your help to find them. If anyone has any information, we have set up a tip hotline for you to call. This young lady was only nineteen years old, and any support that we can get from the community in finding out who did this to her would be greatly appreciated."

With that said, he captain stepped back and Moira stepped up to the podium. She looked like she belonged up there: cool and confident. Her shoulders were back, her head held high—showing the world that she had nothing to be ashamed of.

"Good evening. I'm Moira Ahern with Families and Friends of Vampires, also known as FAFV. We are an organization that strives to reach out to people who support vampire rights. There are many of us—myself included—who know what it is to be persecuted for loving a vampire. This young woman is in that same situation. All she wanted to do was be with the man who loved her. I had the privilege of speaking with her and her family earlier this evening, and they told me a story. It was the story of a girl who fell in love with a boy—a nice boy. And one day, that nice boy happened to become a vampire—"

She was cut off when by choruses of jeering. Protestors were throwing things at her and at each other. Godric could tell that she was doing the best she could to ignore them, but the noise level was such that they couldn't ignore it any longer. She stopped for a moment until the yelling died down, though it never stopped completely.

"Despite being a vampire, he was still the boy that she fell in love with, and he still cares very deeply for her. He doesn't love her because he sees her as a Happy Meal, and she doesn't love him because he could be her ticket to immortality. They love each other because of who they are, not what they are. What is sad about this situation is that she was brutally attacked and beaten for being with the man she loved. Living, breathing human beings have the right to love whomever they choose."

She took a deep breath and continued. "Or, at least, we used to. But now there are people who are trying to hurt us, to intimidate us into stopping. There are people who are going to try to stop you from giving the police any information that you may have about this case. There are people who will tell you that this young lady got what she deserved. But what she deserves is justice. She deserves to have these people brought to justice for what they've done to her. So, I guess what I'm saying is, what kind of people are we going to be? Are we going to allow this injustice to continue? Are we going to allow ourselves to be intimidated into ignoring a fellow person in a time of need? Or are we going to step up to the plate and give this girl and her family the justice that they deserve?"

Moira's eyes were glittering with tears as spoke. All the cool that she had displayed earlier was gone, replaced with a burning passion that was clearly inspiring almost everyone listening. Several reporters had tears in their eyes. Looking over at Moira's parents, he saw tears streaming down their cheeks, Moira's story no doubt bringing to mind memories of their kidnapping and imprisonment months before. But they also looked proud. Proud that she was their daughter, and proud that someone had the courage to say what needed to be said.

The jeering that had forced Moira to stop her speech momentarily was gone, and Godric could see thoughtful expressions on some of their faces. On others, there was only hate. But then, these were the people who had already made up their minds. They already hated Moira and her message, no matter how irrational that hate was, and nothing was going to change their minds.

"Earlier, Chief Whitehorn gave you the number for a tip hotline. Please, use it. All tips will be kept anonymous, and any information that you have could be helpful—even vital—to helping us bring justice to this family in their time of need. Thank you—"

Godric heard the tinkling sound of broken glass, and then Moira was falling. He caught the scent of blood in the air, and was tearing across the room to where Moira now lay, unmoving, on the stage. Chaos fell over the room, people fighting to get out, diving for cover. He knew that Tara and her parents were fighting the crowd, trying to make it to where Moira lay.

Blood was puddled beneath her in an ever-widening pool. Her eyes were glassy, and her breathing was labored and erratic. The wound was nasty—a chest wound. Instinctively, he brought his wrist to his mouth.

"No." Moira's voice was a sickening sound. Wet and choking and full of pain. But he stopped immediately. "Call…ambulance."

"It's a chest wound. Let me do this."

"No…everyone would…see. Apply pressure—" A gasp of pain cut her off, and her eyes fluttered, threatening to close. "Tell Tara to…"

"Stop talking. You can tell her yourself. Just drink—"

"Can't risk…you. Rise in…vampire crime—"

"I don't care. I can't lose you. Now just drink!" His voice was frantic, any trace of calm that he once had was gone. But Moira looked peaceful. There was a small smile on her face, despite the tears of pain.

"I love you…"

"Shh, you can tell me that later, alright. You can say that later—"

But his words were wasted. She was unconscious, and he was desperately hoping that Fate wasn't going to make a liar of him. He was desperately hoping that she would be able to tell him that later.


	13. Can't Let Go

The EMTs arrived shortly, though to Godric, it felt longer than his two thousand years. In each second, he could hear her breathing grow more and more labored as her heart began to race, trying to get oxygen distributed throughout her body. When her heart rate began dropping, he cringed, knowing that it could stop at any minute. He applied more pressure to the wound and cringed when he heard the crack of bone breaking.

"Moira…wake up," he said, his voice more frantic than he would have liked. Her family had made their way up onto the platform and were only a few yards away from where she lay. He wanted to give them the impression that everything was going to be okay, that everything could be fixed as it had been last time, but he couldn't. He couldn't. She wouldn't let him. She didn't want to expose his secret—the secret of vampire blood. Even when she was bleeding to death, she was thinking of others—most of which could take care of themselves.

` "What are you doing? Why aren't you giving her your blood?" Tara hissed in disbelief. Godric could hear Tara's heart racing and smell the adrenaline in her system. Panic was written all over her face—and her parents, too—and he couldn't blame them. Blood was everywhere and she was white as a sheet.

"She told me not to," he said tersely. "Wave the EMTs over. Quickly. She needs them." Tara stood and waved her arms around, making it impossible for the EMTs to miss them. As they took stock of the situation, Godric could see the worry in their faces. They knelt next to Moira and began to take vital signs.

"Alright, sir. I need you to take your hands away on my count, can you do that?" the EMT asked. He placed his hands over Godric's and started at the coldness of his hands. "Vampire?"

"Can you help her or am I going to have to do it?" Godric snapped. The EMT nodded and quickly counted off. Godric pulled his hands away and let the EMT take over applying pressure. He had two thousand years of knowledge, and had no idea of how to save her—not medically. He stepped aside and tried to comfort Moira's family. They just stared at him in horror.

Upon seeing their reactions, he looked down at himself. Not only were his hands covered in blood, but it was all over his sleeves as well, turning his formerly gray suit a sick shade of brown-grey-red. The smell of the blood was overwhelming, but for once it didn't incite the familiar hunger in him. Instead, he was anxious. It was odd—his body didn't produce hormones the way that humans did, but he still felt the same emotions. His time with Moira had made him more human than he had ever been—even in his human lifetime.

"They're going to want someone to ride in the ambulance with her," he said, studying the shocked and panicked family in front of him. "They're also going to need medical history for when they get to the hospital."

"You should go with her," Collum said, though he didn't sound happy about it. Tara didn't look too pleased about it, either and voiced her opinion loudly.

"They shouldn't even be here! You should have given her your blood, and that would have settled it!"

"I told you already, she told me not to. I have to respect that decision. Are you sure you want me to go with her? You're her family."

"And you're the one who can save her if things go wrong. And if things get worse for her…worse than they are now, you save her. I don't care what she told you about your blood, you give it to her if it looks like…if she starts to…" He couldn't even bring himself to finish his sentence, to voice the possibility that his daughter could die.

Godric nodded. "I will, sir. I promise."

"Now, her blood type is O negative, and she's allergic to benzoyl peroxide. One time she had a bad reaction to hydrocondone. She doesn't have any blood-borne diseases that I know of," her father told him. "She doesn't do drugs, never has. She doesn't even dye her hair."

"I'll take care of her, I promise. Better than I have," Godric promised. He climbed into the ambulance and took Moira's hand in his. The ambulance smelled of blood and disinfectant. The EMTs had torn open her suit jacket and shirt, revealing the full extent of her injuries beneath. The bullet hole was surprisingly small. For all the blood she had lost, he had expected it to be bigger. But then, he hadn't seen the exit wound just yet, so he couldn't know.

One thing that did hold his attention—other than the bullet hole in her chest—was the severe bruising all around the wound. It was a strange-shaped bruise, and it took him a moment to realize what it was. The bruise was from where he had been trying to stop the bleeding, and her obviously broken collar bone was also a result of his attempt at helping her.

"How bad is it?" he asked them. They didn't answer, and instead kept working to keep her alive. Her heart rate was unsteady—incredibly unsteady—but it keep going. Her breathing was slowing, but she continued to breathe. He was fighting every urge to give her his blood then and there.

They arrived at the hospital four minutes after they loaded her into the ambulance. Godric was barely out the ambulance and they were already wheeling her away into the operating room, desperately trying to save her life. He grabbed the doctor just before he entered the room.

"If you can't save her…if things get bad…come get me, please," he said, barely able to force the words past his lips. He didn't even want to give voice to the idea that the last thing he would have said to her was that she couldn't tell him she loved him. He hadn't even told her that he loved her…not today, anyway. And it didn't matter that she already knew that. What mattered was that he might not get to say it to her again.

"I will, sir, but hopefully it won't come to that," the doctor said, and then he was gone. Godric settled into a chair in the waiting room, watching the people come and go. Outside the emergency room, a crowd of reporters was beginning to form, all of them trying to catch a glimpse of him or Moira's family. Unfortunately, he still didn't see any of Moira's family, which meant that they were going to catch hell getting through the crowd outside.

Finally, after fifteen minutes of sitting and waiting, he saw Eric's head towering over the crowd, fangs out, guiding Bridget and Collum through the crowd. Tara seemed to be doing just fine on her own, threatening anyone who didn't get out of her way with sudden and painful disembowelment. Despite the circumstances, he couldn't help but grin at her antics. The day that she stopped threatening to kill people in creative ways was the day that hell froze over.

"Get the _fuck _out of the way unless you want me to pull your stomach out your ass!" she snapped at one reporter, snatching his camera away and smashing it on the concrete. Just as she reached the door the emergency room, she turned to face the horde of media personnel. "My sister could be dying, and all you want is 'the scoop' on it. You don't care about what she stood for, just that she got shot. Well, you ought to be ashamed of yourselves. Moira stands for love and compassion and acceptance. Why don't you report that?"

Then, tears streaming down her cheeks, she stormed into the hospital, followed closely by her mother, father, and Eric. He had a small, amused grin on his face—no doubt impressed by her creative swearing and threatening. As he passed Godric, he asked, "How is she?"

"I'm not sure yet. The doctor said that he would come get me if things got…any more life threatening than they already are," Godric replied.

"You'll give her your blood?"

"I can't let her go. She didn't want me to use my blood to save her because she thought it would cause a rise in crime against vampires. But I'm not going to let her die when most of us can fend for ourselves. She can do so much good, Eric."

"She can't if she's dead. You better make sure that doesn't happen," Tara cut in rudely. "She saved both your asses. The least you can do is—"

"I'm not going to let anything happen to her—" Godric started.

"You already let something happen to her! You let her get shot!"

"No, little human," Eric said, stepping between Tara and Godric. He towered over her, almost a foot and a half taller than her. "He did. Whoever shot her is the one you should be blaming, not him. Your sister knew the risks going into it—"

"Both of you, stop it!" Godric said sharply. "Right now, it doesn't matter who's fault it is. What matters is that Moira is okay. Keeping her alive is the most important thing right now."

Both Tara and Eric studied their feet sheepishly, knowing that he was right. They settled down on a bench next in the waiting room, all anxiously waiting for the doctor to come out and tell them something. For the first two hours, they heard nothing, and they got increasingly agitated. Even Godric, the center of calm, was anxious. Finally, the doctor, wearing bloody scrubs, emerged from the operating room.

"How is she?" Tara asked immediately. The doctor bowed his head, and if Godric's heart had still been beating, it would have torn out of his chest.

"The bullet was caught in a vein and traveled to the heart—"

"Just tell me if she's going to be okay," Godric said coldly.

"You wanted to be told if things got worse…well, they are. You might want to go say your goodbyes," the doctor told them. Collum was practically holding his wife upright, and upon hearing the doctor's words, she collapsed. Tears streamed down Tara's cheeks and she buried her face in Eric's shirtfront, temporarily forgetting who he was.

"No…no, let me see her. Please, I have to see her now," Godric whispered, desperate to see her, to save her. He couldn't let her go. Not when he could stop it.

The doctor just nodded and led them down the hallway to the operating room. Collum and Bridget were crying and leaning on each other, holding each other up. Tara was leaning on Eric, who was surprisingly solemn. Godric pushed through the doors of the operating room, trying to keep himself from feeling anything. He couldn't afford to feel anything, especially if he couldn't save…No. He was going to save her.

He would allow himself to think of a world without her, because a world without Moira wasn't a world at all. It was hell.


	14. I'll Try

When Godric stepped into the operating room, he almost froze in shock. She was paler than the stark white walls that surrounded her, making the blood that covered her seem that much more shocking. Her chest had been cracked open so that they could work on her, exposing her heart. He could have held it in his hand if he wanted. He watched as her heart beat slowly and erratically. She was dying, right there before him. Tears of blood were streaming down his cheeks.

"Eric!" he called. Instantly, Eric was beside him, surveying the situation.

"There's a hole in the heart. She's not going to be able to circulate your blood through her system," Eric said quietly.

"Yes she will. I just need an extra pair of hands. Plug the hole with your finger." Even if he hadn't been Eric's maker, there was no room for argument in his voice. He complied without hesitation. Behind them, Moira's family looked on, terrified of what they were seeing. The alarms on the heart monitor were blaring, telling them just how close they were to losing her. The blood was so, so red against her pale skin…

"Godric, hurry," Tara snapped at him, terrified of hearing the prolonged beep that would come with Moira's heart stopping. Once her heart stopped, there was nothing they could do. In order to heal her, his blood would have to circulate through her system. If her heart stopped, the blood couldn't circulate, and it was all over but the crying.

He tore his wrist open with his teeth and held it to her mouth. He massaged her throat, forcing the blood down. He was just beginning to hope that it could work when he heard the sound he had been dreading: that long, solid tone telling him that her heart had stopped. He continued forcing her blood down his throat, hoping that somehow he could make it work anyway.

He tried not to hear the sound that told him the woman he loved was never going to wake up and look at him again. He tried not to think about how he would never see her look at him the way that she had, with so much love in her eyes. He wouldn't think about how he would never hear her say his name again. She had so many different ways of saying his name: in exasperation, in relief, in surprise, in love…Never again…

"Godric, it isn't going to work. Her heart stopped," Eric said, his voice low. Not low enough, though, to keep Tara from overhearing.

"No. No, you don't get to give up on her. There has to be something you can do!" she yelled at them. "There's got to be—"

"Her heart stopped. There's nothing we can do," Eric snapped at her. Godric continued to force blood down her throat, not caring that losing too much would weaken him…and all for nothing.

"So make it start again!" Tara yelled back.

"Vampire blood can do a lot of things, but it can't restart a heart."

"No? Well I can." Tara stormed across the room, pulled on a pair of latex gloves and reached into her sister's chest, wrapping her hands around her heart. Eric and Godric stared at her in shock and disbelief as she tightened and loosened her hands around her sister's heart, forcing it to beat. She was literally pumping her sister's heart for her.

"Do you even know what you're doing?" Eric asked, annoyed.

"Well I sure as hell can't make things any worse! Now put your finger back. Godric, your wrist closed up."

They listened to her, Eric out of awe and a twisted sense of respect for the tiny human—also, he knew that losing Moira was going to destroy Godric. This prolonged effort to keep her alive…well, if it failed, he knew exactly where Godric was headed: the rooftop of the apartment he shared with Moira. Keeping this in mind, Eric put his finger over the tiny hole in her heart,, keeping any more of her precious blood from escaping. Godric tore his wrist open once again and continued to force it down her throat.

The three of them worked tirelessly, trying to keep her alive. Sweat was beaded on Tara's forehead as her compressions got farther and farther apart. Unlike Eric and Godric, she could tire, and she was. Adrenaline—for all it was hyped up to be—seemed to be failing her now. Godric watched as she struggled, desperately hoping that any minute now, she wouldn't need to do so any more. Finally, Godric slid his free hand around Moira's heart and took over, leaving Tara exhausted on the floor.

"C'mon, Moira. Wake up, damn you!" Tara said, hoping beyond hope that her sister would somehow hear her.

Godric's compressions were gentle and more even than Tara's had been, mostly because he had to take care not to destroy her heart. If he jerked or twitched or squeezed too hard, he could completely obliterate the organ that had to keep her alive. Eric stood still as stone, alternating between watching his maker and watching Tara on the floor. Between the beeping of the heart m onitor and Tara's yelling and her parents crying, the noise was overwhelming. Even with his vampire senses, he couldn't hear a single thing in the crowd of sound assaulting his ears.

Godric continued the compressions, refusing to stop, refusing to acknowledge what that would mean. He wouldn't allow himself to think about her dyin—no. But it seemed that he couldn't not think about it. Holding her still heart in his hands, he couldn't keep himself from wondering what he was going to do without her. He had gotten along fine without her for two thousand years, but…she had saved him. He had decided to stay for her, and he wasn't sure how to wake up and live in a world where she didn't exist.

But he would. If she didn't—no, she was going to come through this, but if she didn't…just in case…she had a family to take care of. Tara couldn't keep herself out of trouble, they would need help running FAFV…he had something to live for. Moira had given him more than just herself. She gave him things to do, things to live for. And she had made him realize everything he had. He had Eric, too. Godric studied Eric, who looked down at his hand, surprised. Nothing ever surprised Eric. Nothing. So what was he staring at?

Eric felt that strange rhythm against his hand. The steady compressions of Godric's hands, combined with…with what? He stared down at Moira's open chest, studying her heart, when he noticed that the hole beneath his finger was no longer there. Her heart was beating on its own—it was barely limping by, but it was beating. The opening in her chest was slightly smaller than it had been. She was healing.

"Godric…she's…stop," he said.

"No. I won't, I can't. She's not—"

"No, I mean…look," he ordered, stilling Godric's hands. He watched as Godric stared into her chest cavity for a long moment, watching that weak, irregular heart beat. Her heart was healed and beating on its own. The blood had gotten into her system. She would live.

"She's going to live," Godric whispered. Eric nodded.

"What?" Tara asked, pulling herself tiredly to her feet.

"Look." She stared into her sister's chest and felt a wave of relief sweep over her. Her parents moved closer, looking for the first time into the hole, relieved to see that slight movement that was her heart beating.

"Is she going to be alright?" Collum asked.

"Yes," Godric answered. "She'll need more blood, but she should be fine." He reopened his wrist for the third time and pressed it to her lips. As the blood left his body, he felt it. He felt the weakness that came with blood loss—felt all the more strongly because he was a vampire—but forced himself to remain standing, to get the blood in her. Slowly but surely, they watched her heal before their eyes. Finally, he pulled his wrist away. Moments later, her chest was closed.

"Moira?" Tara whispered, taking her sister's hand. "Moira, can you hear me? I need you to wake up, yeah? That's enough nap time."

"Nap time?" Moira whispered, her voice hoarse.

"Yeah. I guess the press conference must have tired you right out," Tara replied with a smile.

"Godric? Where's Godric?"

He took her hand gently, and smiled down at her. He looked like an angel, with his pale skin and perfect features. It didn't matter than his clothes were bloodstained, or that he had bloody tears still streaming down his cheeks. He was beautiful, and he was hers.

"I'm right here," he whispered.

"Did you give me your blood?"

"I had to. You would have died without it, and I couldn't let that happen. Someone has to keep an eye on Tara."

Moira smiled weakly at his joke. "I know. She and Eric get along a little too well for my overprotective sister liking."

"Well, you getting shot is not to this overprotective boyfriend's liking."

"I'll just have to stop getting shot, then," she said with a faint smile. He kissed her lightly on the forehead.

"No more getting shot or stabbed or kidnapped or killed in any way," he told her with mock sternness.

"I'll try. I promise."

* * *

**A/N:** So, this story is drawing to an end, and as many of you have pointed out, I feel a little something between Eric and Tara. This wasn't actually planned on my part, but it seems that they do have a certain bloodlust in common. Anyway, I feel like they deserve their own story, which is already brewing in my mind. If that's something that y'all would like, let me know and I'll get started. Also, please review! Thanks for the support, and I hope you enjoyed.


	15. Ties

Godric insisted on carrying Moira from the operating room, despite the fact that he knew she was perfectly capable of walking. In the beginning, Moira had voiced this fact, but a single glance at Godric's face told her that any protests would be futile. She could see it in his eyes; he wasn't carrying her because he thought that she was injured in some way, shape or form. He was carrying her because he couldn't bear to let her go. He was afraid that if he let her go, if she was out of his sight for more than a moment, he was going to lose her. And he couldn't let that happen.

The doctors were amazed at her miraculous recovery, and even more amazed by the fact that somehow, the gaping hole in her chest had been healed. They wouldn't let her go from the hospital, but instead decided to keep her overnight for observation. "Just as a precaution," they had said. But they all knew that the real reason they wanted to keep her was so that they could run tests. Blood tests, kidney and liver function tests, echocardiograms…any and every type of test they could fit in the span of her stay, they were going to do. They had heard the rumors about vampire blood—who hadn't?—but to see it in action, to be able to medically test the results was something new.

Everyone insisted on staying with her—well, everyone except Eric, though he did stay, just because it was more entertaining than anything else he had to do. Godric carried her to her room, followed by the train of her family, where they cleaned her up. Well, actually, Godric cleaned her up. He took her into the bathroom and set her gently on the shower chair. He pulled the bloody remnants of her shirt and jacket off her shoulders and down her arms, leaving her bare to the waist. Taking the wash cloth, he dipped it into the warm, soapy water, and gently wiped away the blood that was all over her chest. Moira sat back and let it happen, her eyes falling closed as she struggled to stay awake. She was exhausted—blood loss can do that to a person—but didn't want to miss any time she could spend with her family, especially given her history.

"The American Vampire League is going to have a blast with this one," Tara said, opening the door without a care for Moira's modesty. Moira gave her sister a pointed look, and Tara pulled the door closed, leaving just the tiniest opening through which she could keep an eye on things outside. Several nurses had crowded into the doorway of the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of the miraculously healing patient.

"Nan Flanagan is perfectly capable of handling it. That woman's a feisty bitch," Moira mumbled, recalling their first meeting.

"Well, I have a feeling she's going to be a nasty bitch to your boyfriend," Tara answered flippantly. "He just confirmed the big secret about vampire blood. Do you have any idea how pissed that 'feisty bitch' is going to be?"

Of course she did. She had been on the receiving end Nan's anger once, and it wasn't something that she was likely to forget. Ever. And part of her—the tiny part way back in the farthest corners of her mind—was afraid for Godric and the consequences he could potentially suffer. But this time, she had a feeling that instead of giving in to Nan's demands as he had after the Fellowship of the Sun fiasco in Dallas, he was going to tell Nan Flanagan where to go and how to get there. The look of fierce protectiveness in his expression told Moira that she was right.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it, yeah?" Collum suggested. He was just grateful that his daughter was alive, and trying to bask in that. When Moira had told him that she wanted to start an organization for friends and families of vampires, he hadn't quite realized how dangerous her life was going to become. Now he was slowly starting to realize that life wasn't going to be a picnic for her. It wasn't going to be one for him, either, considering that he was a bit of an overprotective father. But right now, Moira was alive, and he was going to focus on that.

Godric smiled at Collum, thankful to have him close the door on that topic of conversation. He would also be glad when he could drain the bloody water out of the sink. With each submersion of the cloth, it became a darker and darker shade of red, clouding with Moira's blood. He didn't like to think about how much blood she had lost and just how close he had come to losing her. Never again. He wasn't going to let it get that close again.

"They're going to make me where one of those awful gowns, aren't they?" Moira asked, smiling up at him. Of course, she was lucky to be a live, so she could hardly complain about a hospital gown, but they were so flimsy and awkward.

"Yes, Ms. Ahern, we are," a nurse said, opening the bathroom door and handing her a blue gown that she could pull over her head. "And you, sir, need to clear out and give her some privacy."

Moira froze and stared at the nurse for a moment in disbelief. The nurse had a haughty expression on her face, and was clearly power tripping. Fantastic. Moira grinned, but it was a cold, amused grin that told Godric she wasn't very happy.

"Excuse me, what's your name?" Moira asked the nurse.

"I'm Ashleigh."

"Ashleigh? Well, nurse Ashleigh, I just sat in here, topless, while this gentleman wiped blood off my breasts. Do you really think that I'm going to care that he's in here while I'm putting on a hospital gown?"

Behind them, Tara snorted, unable to completely control her laughter. And, naturally, she had to get her two cents in as well. "Yeah, nurse Ashleigh. She's also sleeping with him, so I'm sure that he's seen it all already."

The nurse's eyes widened, and she began stumbling over herself, trying to please them. Tara was unable to hold back her laughter, which was quite loud, which only made it worse. Finally, once the nurse's blush could no further deepen, Moira took mercy on the woman and sent her away. Tara left the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind her.

"Do you have any pain?" he asked quietly. She shook her head and started to stand, trying to remove her skirt and pantyhose. Godric wrapped an arm around her waist for support while unzipping her skirt and letting it fall to the floor. Moira stepped out of it, and Godric gently removed her hose. Neither one of them were sure where her shoes had gone, but they didn't really matter. Moira raised her arms above her head and he pulled the gown down over them, tying it at her neck.

"Godric, I'm worried for you," she whispered, resting her forehead against his. He kissed her lightly on the forehead.

"Don't worry about me. I'm not going to let anything happen to you or me. You know as well as I do that Nan Flanagan can be handled easily. She knows how to twist this so that I look like the knight in shining armor."

"Making me the damsel in distress?"

"Well, you were in distress, anyway. I wasn't aware than damsels carried .45-caliber pistols in their glove boxes—"

"Purse. The .45 is in my purse. The .32 is in my glove box," she corrected with a smile. He kissed her lightly and briefly, pulling away before she was too breathless. She wasn't satisfied with the short kiss and pulled him close for another kiss, a more intense, passionate kiss that would have lead to the bedroom if they hadn't been in the hospital. "How are you?"

"Me?"

"I drank a lot of your blood. You probably need to feed—"

"Eric left a case of True Blood for me with Tara," he said, lifting her into his arms and pushing open the bathroom door. He set her gently on the bed and tried to pull the sheets over her, but she wouldn't let him go. Knowing that she wanted the comfort of his touch as much as he wanted the comfort of hers, he kicked off his shoes, pulled off his bloody jacket and shirt, and climbed into bed beside her. Tara and her parents were suspiciously absent, but Moira was okay with the quiet time.

"I could do this forever," she whispered, thinking aloud. "Well, for the rest of my life, anyway."

Godric smiled and tightened his arm around her. He knew what she meant. Moments like this with her were beautiful. The way that she looked at him—without a trace of fear in her eyes—gave him a feeling of peace. She always had a look of wonder when she studied him—not wonder at what he was, but rather at the fact that he was hers. How had she been so lucky? Of course, he was wondering the same thing.

"Would you like to?"

"What?"

"Would you like to do this forever? Well, for the rest of your life, anyway?" he asked quietly, echoing her earlier phrasing.

"You know I would," she answered, a small smile on her face. He kissed her again, this time leaving her breathless and begging for more. "It's a shame we're not at home."

"We will be soon enough," he said, though he was secretly thinking the exact same thing. "You would make it official?"

"O-official?" Moira stammered, understanding where he was going with the conversation. She couldn't have kept the ear-to-ear smile off her face if she had tried. Suddenly, her family's absence made sense. She wondered when he had had time to ask her father.

"I was thinking marriage, if you don't mind."

"I don't. Don't mind a bit."

"Then you won't mind wearing this, then?" Godric pulled a small black box out of his pants pocket and flipped it open, revealing a simple round cut diamond settled between two emeralds on a gold band. She nodded silently as he slipped the ring onto her finger.

"You were planning this?"

"I hadn't thought it would go quite like this, but…I held your heart in my hands and hoped and prayed that you wouldn't leave me. I hoped that if I just wanted it enough, you would stay. That maybe if I wanted it enough and hoped enough, I could keep you tied to this world, to me…and—"

"Marriage is about as tied as it gets," she finished for him. "I tried to stay. I tried as hard as I could to stay awake…I didn't want to leave you. I guess between us we'll keep each other pretty grounded—"

They were interrupted when the door to the room burst open and Tara stood in the opening, looking impatient with her hands on her hips. "She said yes. Are we allowed back in now?"

They glanced at each other and then back at Tara before laughing. Tara took this as a yes and motioned the rest of her crew back into the room. Even Eric had stuck around, it seemed, and even managed a tiny, half grin—a stretch for him. They were all there, the dysfunctional vampire-human patchwork family, and somehow, it worked for them.

"You realize that you'll be tied to them, too. Can you live with that?" Moira asked, motioning to her family. Godric kissed her lightly on the forehead in a gesture that made Tara want to squeal.

"Absolutely."

* * *

**Author's Note: **So, there it is. The final chapter. I do plan on writing a semi-sequel about Tara and Eric, though it may be a while. But I hope you enjoyed Godric and Moira's story. Thanks for the support and feedback. Y'all are awesome. Please review!!!


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